#This is the easy bet to win though

[zetadraconis11]

HL Incorrect Quote #80

Garreth: Do you love Sebastian?

MC: Yes, I do.

Garreth: Imelda! I told you I knew it! You owe me 100 Sickles!

Imelda: We all love Sebastian more or less. You should've asked if she was IN love with him.

MC: I thought that was implied.

Imelda: 

Garreth: 

MC, looking straight at Imelda: Congrats Garreth, you just won 100 Sickles.

[no-144444]

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it. 

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month. 

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you). 

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants. 

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail. 

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude. 

Newsflash: extremely. 

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered. 

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day. 

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him! 

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive. 

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day. 

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case… 

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others. 

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking. 

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win. 

You do make the entire month absolute torture though. 

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything. 

Even walking around the apartment naked. 

But somehow, he doesn’t budge. 

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut. 

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin. 

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

 He would honestly be pretty good. 

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result. 

He fucks you all night. 

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is. 

He heard you two last night. 

He was 4 doors down. 

Oops. 

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press. 

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money. 

They ask him what for. 

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost. 

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you. 

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month. 

He didn't really care. 

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media. 

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk. 

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price. 

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever. 

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before. 

He has to make up for lost time, right? 

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose. 

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

 He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time. 

He has absolutely no shame about it either. 

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while. 

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up. 

The month was torture though. 

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no. 

You were impressed at how long he lasted. 

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot. 

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money. 

He heard you, of course. 

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early. 

He vows to win next year. 

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it. 

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way. 

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis. 

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose. 

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Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it. 

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do. 

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you. 

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Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that. 

 But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame. 

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Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways. 

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month. 

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again. 

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[mostly-imagines]

Scenes From an Afternoon Odyssey

jason todd x fem!reader

aka a day in the forest

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: reader wears a bra

middle picture art by spaceboykenny

You’ve nearly reached the peak of the slope, the uphill trek putting quite a toll on your legs. Jason insisted on holding your hand because his longer stride tends to put him several steps ahead of you. The sun beats down on your backs, the uptake in the heat of the day actually feeling quite nice compared to the chill that’s swept over Gotham recently.

Upon arriving at the flat plane, you take in a pretty array of sunflowers and a thoughtfully placed bench.

Jason halts his steps, looking back at you. “You need a break?” He asks, noting the way your breathing has become a bit labored.

You hum, taking a deep inhale. “Just for a second,” you say, plopping down on the bench.

He reaches behind him to fish the water bottle out of the pocket of his backpack. “Drink some water.” he says gruffly, holding the bottle out to you.

You don’t particularly feel like you need water again just yet, but you know better than to try and fight him on something related to taking care of yourself. It’s a losing battle and he’s proved it time and time again.

You take the drink from him, taking a couple sips. He eyes you with disapproval, bringing his hand up to tilt the bottom of the bottle up more. You down a few gulps, trying not to smile.

He takes the bottle back from you, taking a couple gulps of his own. Once the water returns to its pocket, he sits down next to you, hand massaging your thigh. In turn, your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, playing with the short hair there.

Despite your claim, you sit for longer than a second, listening to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the wind. It really is a beautiful day and Jason knew a great trail that’s hardly ever busy. It’s aways away from Gotham, but any excuse he can take to get the two of you out of the smog filled city, he’ll take.

Between the serenity of the scene in front of you and the warmth of his touch on your thigh, your breathing steadies pretty quickly.

You peer at the path ahead, taking note of how level and easy it looked. Your hand flattens on the base of his neck as you turn to him, “I could beat you in a race.” You say decidedly.

He huffs out a laugh, meeting your eyes with a glint of amusement shining in his own. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile, nodding, “Been waiting for a chance to prove it.”

You stand up, turning around to take his hand and pull him up with you. He does most of the work for you, pulling his weight up himself.

“You wanna go?” He smiles, looking down at you.

“Do you wanna go?” Your smile grows impossibly, and Jason decides right then and there that he’d do absolutely anything to see you light up like that again.

You figure a sprint is your best chance, you’re not willing to bet that you can beat out a vigilante when it comes to endurance. Especially considering the uphill incline almost took you out.

You settle on a finish line about 30 feet away, and as you position yourselves to start, you feel your overconfidence begin to cave back in on you. His stature swamps you out, and it's becoming clear that you’ve got no real chance here. In any case, you’ve committed and this is happening.

“Ready…set…” both of you have the idea to start before you say go, taking off with haste.

You’re laughing as you run, which isn’t doing you any favors with keeping ahead of him, though you’re able to maintain a pretty neck and neck match.

Did he let you win? Yeah. He’s a gentleman, of course. He’s right on your tail though, and lifts you up from under your arms as you cross the finish line, nipping at your neck as you giggle.

He sets you back down gently, “Alright, fast girl. You need a drink?” He tucks some stray hair in your face back behind your ear.

“No, I’m...” You pause, scanning around. You point at a big tree along the side of the trail ahead. “You see that tree right there?”

He glances over, “Yeah?”

You take off sprinting for it without another word. And apparently cheating is a quick ticket to him dropping the act and beating you without an ounce of mercy.

You’re sitting on a relatively level branch in a tree next to Jason, one of your legs resting on top of one of his. You swing your free leg back and forth, biting into your sandwich.

There’s a couple juice boxes balancing in the small space between you, both half empty. He’d laughed at you when you picked them up from the store on the way there, but he drinks it all the same.

He holds your ziplock bag of chips out to you and you take a small handful, popping them into your mouth. When your hand moves to return to your side, he takes it in his own and presses your knuckles to his lips gently.

With a sly smile, you watch butterflies dance around each other and listen to birds singing their offbeat songs. And you think about Jason. You think about how he held you in his arms last night so you could fall asleep while he read. How on the way up here he’d held your hand as you balanced across the stones, forcing him to walk at a much slower pace than he’d probably prefer. You told him he could walk a little ahead, but he’d insisted on holding your hand so you didn’t “slip and bust your head open” in his words.

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s combing through his own set of memories of you too. It’s a bit silly to spend so much time dwelling on these warm memories about someone that’s only right next to you, but you’ve both found it’s hard to stop.

It used to scare Jason, how often you occupied his whole mind. He’d never felt such intense adoration and devotion before that he’d nearly mistaken it for fight or flight. It was foreign and strange, and it felt like danger. But it didn’t take long for the effects of his love to kick in like a drug, and now he can’t get enough of you.

But you don’t feel like a drug, you feel like a cure. You make him feel like himself again, like death never got a hold of him and like he’s an innocent soul anew. You treat him like it, at least.

Maybe it’s silly to fall into such a deep pit of thoughts about you when you’re right there, smiling so bright over at him and gleefully pointing out a couple of squirrels that are fighting over an acorn. But he’s happy to let you take up as much space in his head as you want.

You sit with your legs dangling off the pier, shoes cast aside so you can enjoy the cool water. Jason sits a few feet behind you, laying down against the wood of the dock, the sun beating down on his face.

The water is a beautiful blue marble reflection, and the sun radiates down on your skin, sending warmth throughout your body which combats the light breeze handily. You lean down and dip your hand into the water, letting it run between your fingers like thread.

“Can we swim?” you pipe up, looking over your shoulder at Jason.

He raises his eyebrows at you, “You didn’t know there was a lake up here.” He means he knows you don’t have a swimsuit under your clothes.

You shrug, “There’s no one up here.”

He scans around mildly, before looking at the water. “Yeah, okay.” He tugs his shirt off his back, coming to a stand.

You grin, pulling up the material of your own shirt from your waist. Once it’s swept over your head, Jason’s left in just his boxers and not a moment later you’re in a similar state.

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and it takes you no time at all to realize where he’s going with this. He lifts you up off the ground and dives off the dock, submerging you both in the water.

You bob back up out of the water, not even trying to suppress the glee on your face. And somewhat to your surprise, neither does he.

You’d had dinner at the manor with his family last night and you were still a bit attuned to Jason’s closed off, stoic mood that he gets in around them. He feels something akin to insecurity when he openly emotes around them. Vulnerability, maybe. Either way, you know he hates the feeling and will avoid it at all costs so it’s nice when it’s just the two of you and he gets to act like himself.

Unlike Jason, you can’t quite touch the floor of the lake, so you tread with the water wavering at your neck. The water barely reaches the start of Jason’s shoulders as he stands before you.

He closes the small space between you before his arms make their way under your thighs, lifting you up out of the water slightly. He looks up at you with a lazy smile as you wrap your legs around his body. Your cheeks warm and you hold his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him with heat.

He deepens the kiss, thumbs rubbing at your thighs as his head tilts back. Your thumbs stroke at his cheek in turn, smiling against his lips.

He actually whines when you pull away, chasing your lips. You rest your hands on his shoulders, simpering down at him.

“Alright, slow down, hotshot. We’re not doing anything in a lake.” You laugh, pushing the dripping white streak back with the rest of his wet hair.

He huffs, “If there was anyone around here I promise you would not be half naked right now.”

You push yourself off of him, dropping back down into the water. “Other people are the least of your concerns,” you say, grinning and splashing him in the face, backing away with haste.

He blinks the water out of his eyes, laughing. “That’s how it is?”

You bite your lip as he approaches and you continue to retreat. “Can’t have you losing focus.”

He raises his brow at you, wearing a smile that says that you should know that was a mistake. He proves it as he dives after you, lifting you up over his shoulder and tossing you into the water with an unfair amount of ease.

You’re a bit hidden away in the tall grass, the scent of lavender flowers placing you in repose. You’re laying with your head in his lap, eyes closed as he pages through his book.

He’s reading out loud, though if you’re being honest, you haven’t fully processed a single word he’s read in at least ten minutes. He’s good at making you relax with his voice, and the amount of exercise you’ve gotten in today is doing nothing to slow it down.

You can’t think of when he started playing with your hair, but it feels soothing and frankly it’s making you very sleepy. Between the gravelly lull of his words and the rustling of the flora throughout the field you’re about to pass out.

“I’m gonna fall asleep.” You mumble, eyes shut.

His hand stills and he extends his book away from his body so he can see your face. “Sweetheart, there’s not a chance in hell you were awake that whole time.”

“I was,” you say, blinking up at him blearily. “I was just resting my eyes.”

He looks down at you skeptically. “How long have we been here?”

You click your tongue, “Like fifteen minutes.”

“It’s been an hour and a half.” he says simply, flipping his book shut from the last page as proof.

“It has n—” you look up at the sky and notice the sun is in a wildly different spot than it was when you’d first laid down. You’re almost completely in the shadows of the trees now. “Wh—why did you let me sleep for so long?”

He hums lowly, “You looked peaceful.” He pauses, “Pretty.”

He looks at the sky, squinting. He nudges you off his lap gently, coming to a stand. “Come on. The sun’s gonna start going down soon.”

You groan and he pulls you up to join him, your fatigue tailing after you. You lean your weight against him and rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes again. “Let’s just stay here.”

You feel him shake his head. “Can’t stay here, sweetheart. Who’ll feed the strays back home?”

He’s right. You can’t leave them to dumpster dive again.

You groan louder as you pull back and stand up straight. “You did not mention that the trail was so long.” You look down at your sore legs and try to stretch them out a bit to get energy back in them.

When you look back up at him, he’s swinging the backpack on, but he stops midway, dropping it to his side again.

He slugs his backpack over your shoulders, turning his back to you and bending down a bit. You take the hint and jump up. He catches you with ease, hoisting you up higher.

He starts down the grassy path out of the field, sidestepping flowers and bumblebees as he goes. Your head lulls to the side and ends with your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He bobs you up, “If I’m carrying you all the way back to the car you have to stay awake.”

“If you’re carrying me all the way back to the car, what difference does it make?” you grumble, eyes fluttering.

“Keep me company.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his neck. “I can do that. What do you want to eat tonight?”

He hums thoughtfully. “You wanna get pizza?”

You nod, pleased. “Big day for us.”

You have one arm draped loosely over his shoulder and the other lags by your side. “Are you going on patrol tonight?” You ask him.

He peers back at you haphazardly, “Uh, no—will you hold onto me, please?”

You’re nowhere near falling, but you know that’s not why he wants you to hold onto him. You’re happy to oblige though. You wrap your arms around him, crossing them over each other so you can hold onto his shoulders.

Seemingly content, he continues, “No, I’m not. Wanna stay in with you.”

“Aw. Going soft on me?” You rag.

He hums deeply, “Or maybe I'm just sick of being around Dick.”

You scoff, “Well, if you’re gonna be mean.”

“I’m literally carrying you right now.” He shrugs you up a bit in emphasis. Fair enough.

You look up and can see the pinking hues of the sky in between the leaves of the trees, glowing down softly on you. Your mouth twists into a contemplative frown. It takes you a moment to piece together where you’re at, but you eventually realize you’re only halfway back to the car. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it back before sunset.”

“That’s okay.” He tells you.

You rest your chin on his shoulder, a bemused pout on your face. “You hate it when I’m outside after dark.”

“I hate it when you’re alone outside after dark.” He corrects.

“Ah.” You nod, thoughtfully. “But now I’ve got my strong boyfriend to protect me, right?”

He scoffs but you’re just upset you can’t see the flush on his cheeks that you’re certain is there.

Though he shows no signs of struggling, you’re beginning to feel guilty that he’s spending his day off lugging you around.

“I can walk.” You offer, pushing yourself up a bit, ready to jump down.

“I know.” He says simply, shrugging you up higher.

[earthtooz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your trip?” Caesar asks. 

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

“Oh no! Do you need a little rest?”

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

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

The group giggles between themselves.

“Thanks, Lighter!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C'mon, quit teasin’ me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I doubt it.”

“And if I overstay my welcome?” 

“Then apologise by keeping me company.”

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

Yeah. You really are trying to kill him. 

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

[mybrainrotforreal]

Inho is Sangwoo if he won

And Sangwoo is Inho if he let his humanity win. Both are smart, I bet in 2015 Inho could figure the games out just like Sangwoo did. Just be real, he climbed corporate ladder, he IS manipulative (need to work on his jokes though) I can see he pulled the trick Sangwoo did to Ali. Looking at how he subdued Thanos (well, hello avengers), he can fight well too. The only thing that didn't make him has the same faith as Sangwoo is he didn't have someone like Gihun in the game.

Sangwoo knows how kind Gihun is, and he trusts him that he will help his mother after winning the game. He knows Gihun won't kill him and no matter how Gihun tried to stop the game, they might kill Gihun or both of them. He does what he should do and it's the best win-win solution. Even if he won, he was morally corrupted from the start anyway (siphoning money off from his clients to invest in the stock market and futures), it's easy to see him go back to the game as frontman.

We don't know much about 2015 Squid Game but all we know Inho was a family man with one kidney and needed the money for his wife and unborn child. But this is one of the reason why he is the villain.

A hero will sacrifice you to save the world, but a villain will sacrifice the world to save the person they love.

[daisymbin]

tell me you love me! - kim mingyu

genre: friends to lovers!

wc: 1.7k

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

“wanna bet?” mingyu’s voice is playful, his smirk cocky as he watches you with that glint in his eye that always makes your heart skip a beat. you try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening.

you swallow nervously, not sure where this is going. “depends. what are the stakes?”

“whatever the winner wants,” he replies, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms casually. his tone is confident, as though he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “anything? that’s a bit risky.”

“trust me,” mingyu says, his smile turning more confident, like he's enjoying this moment of control. "it’ll be worth it."

you hesitate, but only for a moment, before nodding. "fine. i'll bite."

“good choice,” he says, leaning forward with that usual cocky grin on his face. “so, here’s the bet.”

you wait, unsure of what’s coming, but bracing yourself for whatever he throws at you.

“arm wrestling,” he says, suddenly, and your eyes widen.

“that’s not fair!” you exclaim, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. you were expecting something—well, anything—else. something that didn’t involve you getting completely embarrassed in front of him.

mingyu chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. "you already agreed, sweetheart. don’t back out now."

“but you’re way stronger than i am!” you argue, arms flailing slightly as you try to explain why this isn’t fair. “there’s no way i’m going to win!”

“a bet’s a bet,” mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, not even fazed by your protests. "you agreed to it. c'mon now."

you feel a mixture of frustration and a nervous, fluttery excitement as you sit down across from him, your eyes narrowing at his smug expression. he stretches out his arm, flexing his muscles just to tease you further.

you try to steel yourself, but your hands are already shaking. this wasn’t what you had in mind when you agreed to the bet, and now the thought of losing—especially in front of him—feels like the worst possible outcome.

“you ready?” mingyu asks, his voice dropping slightly as his fingers curl around your hand.

you bite your lip, casting a quick glance toward the door, as if you could escape from this situation, but then you look back at mingyu. his grin only widens, and you can see the playfulness in his eyes.

you press your lips together, determined to at least try. you might not win, but you weren’t going to back down without a fight.

when you both lock hands, the challenge is set, and mingyu’s grip feels like a vice around yours, making you feel smaller and weaker in comparison. you brace yourself, trying to summon the last of your courage.

the countdown begins. “three, two—”

before you can even blink, mingyu’s hand crashes down to the table with ease.

you blink at him, stunned for a moment. “...you’re kidding me.”

he laughs, the sound deep and triumphant, and leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. “that was way too easy.”

“you didnt even give me a chance,” you complain, but mingyu doesn’t let you wallow for long. his cocky grin only grows wider as he leans in slightly, his gaze now fixed on you.

“so,” he begins, drawing out the word with exaggerated suspense, “since i won, i think i’ll collect my prize.”

you look up at him, panic flashing in your eyes as the realization hits you. “what do you want?” you ask with a sigh.

you barely have time to process it when he leans forward, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“i want a kiss,” he says simply, and the air feels like it’s been sucked out of your lungs.

you freeze. for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. you open your mouth to protest, but the words don’t come. all you can do is blink at him, utterly caught off guard by his casual request.

“i-i can’t,” you stammer, taking a step back instinctively, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

“why not?” mingyu teases, his voice a little softer now, but still carrying that cocky edge. “it’s just a kiss.”

“but that’s... i just can’t,” you say, your voice shaking now, feeling vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before. you’re in love with him—how could you not be? but the thought of kissing him, of letting him have that piece of you, knowing it could never be enough, feels like you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak. and you’re not ready for that.

mingyu’s expression falters slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, but then he just shrugs, clearly thinking it’s just nerves.

“why not? it's just a kiss. you've kissed plenty of people before.” he teases, taking a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst way.

you swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing. “yeah but... why do you want one? ” you ask, your voice barely a whisper as you meet his eyes.

“isn’t it obvious?” he asks, his smirk returning as if it’s second nature to him. but there’s something different in the way he looks at you, something softer beneath the teasing.

“well... no?” you reply, unsure of yourself. “that’s why i’m asking. why did you—” you trail off, suddenly too scared to say the next words. to admit what you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself.

mingyu’s expression hardens for a brief second, before his gaze softens again, his cocky smile vanishing as his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s seeing right through you. “aren’t you in love with me?” he asks, his voice low and piercing, leaving no room for denial.

your heart stops. you feel like you’ve been slapped, the world spinning around you. you try to speak, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. instead, you just stare at him, completely blindsided.

“what? that’s—” you begin to protest, but mingyu cuts you off, his voice now serious and commanding.

“i’m going to kiss you,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “back out now if you don’t want it.”

you stand frozen, all the words swirling in your mind but not leaving your lips. your heart races, thundering in your chest as your thoughts spiral. you don’t want to back out. but you don’t want to risk having your heart broken, either.

you don’t say a word, but your silence says everything.

mingyu shifts closer, closing the gap between you, and you can feel your breath hitch as he leans down, his lips brushing gently against yours. the kiss is slow, almost tender, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. you can’t. you kiss him back, feeling the warmth of his lips, the softness that you never expected, the connection you’ve always wanted but never dared to dream of.

when he pulls away, you’re breathless, your heart pounding wildly. you step back, your face flushed, and look away from him, suddenly feeling too exposed.

mingyu watches you carefully, his eyes searching yours. “do you regret it?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable but masking it by carrying that teasing edge.

“no, i just...” you start, but the words don’t come out the way you want them to. you feel the weight of everything you’ve kept hidden pressing down on you.

“hey, look at me,” mingyu says, his voice gentle now, almost like he’s comforting you.

reluctantly, you meet his gaze, your heart still racing in your chest. but now, it’s different. it’s not the same cocky mingyu you’re used to. there’s something deeper in his eyes.

“tell me you love me,” he says quietly, almost expectantly, like he already knows the answer.

your eyes widen, your mouth falling open as you try to make sense of what he just asked. “w-what?”

“you do,” mingyu insists, his gaze intense, his voice firm but soft. “i know you do. you look at me the same way i look at you. so just tell me you love me.”

you blink, your mind racing. “mingyu, what are you—”

“i said what i said,” he interrupts, his voice steady and confident. “you heard me loud and clear.”

you stand there, speechless, feeling as though the floor has been ripped from beneath you. so many thoughts are running through your head, but nothing makes sense. what does he mean 'you look at me the same way i look at you.'

“i... i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper, backing away, your heart in your throat as panic and fear hugs you like a thick weighted blanket you can't shake off.

before you can take another step, mingyu’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist firmly. “don’t walk away from me,” he says quietly, his grip gentle but unyielding.

you freeze, your chest tightening. you want to pull away, but his touch is grounding you, making it impossible to move.

he pulls you back toward him. “i love you,” he says, his voice clear and sure. “everyone knows i do. you’re the only oblivious one.”

your heart stutters, your world spinning. “what?” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips.

“and i know you do too,” mingyu continues, his gaze unwavering, his tone confident. “are you still going to tell me you don’t know what i’m talking about?”

you stand there, caught in his gaze, unable to move or speak, but in that moment, everything changes. the fear fades away, and something new takes its place.

mingyu encourages again, “tell me you love me,”

you swallow, your voice trembling as you finally admit out loud, “i love you.”

mingyu’s grin widens, and for the first time, it’s not cocky—it’s soft, full of relief and happiness. he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, and whispers, “you don't know just how bad i've wanted to hear you say these 3 words.”

[dami-anne-damn]

CookieSized!Beast Cookies x HumanSized!Reader

Cuddling Head-cannons!

Shadow Milk Cookie:

He’s super into cuddling, but only when he wants too. Like, man is clingy in the same way a cat is.

He would totally want to crawl up the inside of your sleeve like a gremlin and curl up on your chest.

Speaking of chest, that’s his favorite place to snuggle up too, either that or your face. Specifically your cheek since he’s tiny. (He likes to be a presence you can’t ignore.)

If you love cuddles prepare to be absolutely smothered in them. He wants to be all you can focus on in this world, and allowing him to cling to you is an opportunity he just can’t pass up.

If you don’t like cuddles then you are fresh outta luck because he does not care. It doesn’t matter to him how large you are, or how intimidating you can be. He’s snuggled up to you and he’s comfortable. Plus… since when were you in charge?

Like, if you’re resting he’s all up in your business, IMMEDIATELY. If you try to push him away enough times, he’ll walk off in a fake huff talking about ‘diva(s)’. But once you finally fall asleep he’s right back where he wants to be.

Ironically enough if you try to cuddle up to him without his prompting, he’ll play hard to get. Might even bat your hand away too- (well, as much as a itty-bitty cookie his size can to a human).

When he’s cuddled up on your chest, sometimes he’ll worm his way up to your ear. He’ll begin to whisper things, things he couldn’t possibly know. Tidbits about your day you never told him, stuff that has yet to happen, knowledge on how to help you succeed in future endeavors. You are normally asleep by the time this advice comes, so why does he do this?

Is it the joy he feels knowing that he has all the answers you need and all the control to tell you only when you’re not listening? Or is it something else? Only he has the answer to that.

——————————————————

Mystic Flour Cookie:

She’s definitely not clingy, but she doesn’t mind it when you two cuddle.

I imagine since she’s the Beast of Apathy she is quite neutral about where she lays in accordance to you in bed. You could have her in your arms, your hands, heck probably even on the top of your head and she’d be ok with it.

She won’t admit this, but her favorite way to cuddle is with your head in her lap and her hand in your hair. Yes, you are still human sized. Also yes, she is still cookie sized. (You guys make it work though.)

Love cuddles or hate cuddles, she couldn’t care either way. Calm and composed, she decides when and when not to allow you to breach her personal space.

Although, if you do catch her off guard with a pick up and cuddle attack from behind. Even if she may not show it immediately, she doesn’t like when people just take what they want from her. Expect the cold shoulder.

On rare occasions, Mystic Flour can and will ask to be held. There’s something unusual about her tone, something more..alive.

When you have long since fallen asleep, she finds her hand stroking your hair absentmindedly. She then slowly lowers her body to lay against your head, all of HER own volition. For cuddling you was her choice, not your will. Hers.

——————————————————

Burning Spice Cookie:

Normally, I would never think that Burning Spice would go for cuddles. Too boring and stagnant for his tastes.

But if you did manage to get him to cuddle, you bet you had to earn that. And it wasn’t easy. So if you like fighting tooth and nail for the right to cuddle, then Burning Spice is your man!

Battle against him, he doesn’t care how large and fleshy you are. He wants a fight, he needs a fight. If you want to cuddle The Great Destroyer, then show him you can handle it! (This is an every night before bed thing too).

Finally you win—(because let’s be honest..he’s like what, 3 inches tall?) —and now you’ve earned the right to cuddle. Burning Spice’s favorite place to cuddle is right against your stomach or heart, things he can hear.

Sometimes during these sessions, you can catch a glimpse of Burning Spice’s face, it looks empty as he listens to your body work and breathe. You wonder whats going though his head.

But as soon as it’s there, it’s gone and is replaced with his usual scowl as he loudly exclaims how ‘bored’ he is with the current situation.

As I’ve already explained, if you want cuddles Burning Spice is definitely going to play hard to get. Much like Shadow Milk in that sense. But on another note, much like Mystic Flour he doesn’t care if he gets cuddles or not. (If anything he seems to project more no than yes. But if that’s really true, why does he still offer to fight you each night?)

——————————————————

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

Are you a couch potato with big emotions?! Do you like to cuddle?! Then maybe you should consider getting yourself an Eternal Sugar Cookie to keep you company!

They are a MASSIVE cuddle monster, (they might even be clinger than Shadow Milk in this sense) you’re like a big warm pillow! They are perched or nestled somewhere on you from 24/7 to eternity.

Their favorite place to cuddle is curled up on your neck. Wings draped over the sides of your shoulders in a sort of possessive hug. Feeling your pulse.

If you like cuddles Eternal Sugar is definitely a provider, and is pretty good at making you feel right at ease. I could imagine them curled up, tangled in your hair and lazily strumming at their lyre with droopy eyes.

Being the Beast of Sloth, I could see them using their power to perhaps make you feel a bit more lethargic than usual.

After a while with Eternal Sugar you might start missing your morning alarm, sleeping in, missing breakfast, lunch, maybe even dinner too…a couple days go by…wait, how long have you been sleeping for again?

——————————————————

Silent Salt Cookie:

Tbh, I see this cookie as very hit or miss when it comes to cuddle time. Either they’re all in on some nice quiet quality time or they want absolutely nothing to do with it.

If they are into it I could see them liking sleeping tangled up in your legs (keeps you from moving too much) or I could see them resting in your hands, especially if you sleep with them curled up to your face.

Don’t expect any kind of talk though, if you start yapping while you two are snuggled up close they’ll just end up getting up and walking away. It’s silence or nothing. (And if you talk in your sleep, just forget about it.)

If they are not in the mood for cuddles, don’t try and convince them. Begging and pleading will only serve to annoy this beast. You gotta let them come to you, like a stray cat you gotta earn the trust of before they come inside your home.

On the days you guys cuddle, if you stay really quiet and still, you can feel Silent Salt press into you almost longingly. Is it despair? Is it loneliness? Want, need? It’s impossible to tell which emotion the beast is feeling with that helmet on. All you can guess is that they are comfortable in the palms of your hands. That’s all that matters…right?

——————————————————

Fin and thank you for reading!

[thesecondhandwoman]

I don’t send requests often so I’m not sure if this is too vague but what do you think of a pit fighter vi x reader where reader is a medic at the pit and vi slowly but surely begins to trust them?

PIT FIGHTER’S MEDIC

Pit fighter!Vi x f!reader

Synopsis: You were a medic at the station besides the cage fights, constantly taking care of beat up fighters, victorious or not. That’s how you met Vi, the most recently boosting pit fighter.

Request: Anon 🤍

A/N: No where close to proofread (so please, bear with me on this one).

The underground pit was a second home to bloodstains and bad decisions. You’d stopped keeping track of the fights the moment you clocked into your shift. The medic station was tucked in a dark corner, far enough from the roaring crowd but close enough to the cage that the echoes of flesh meeting steel felt all too real.

Tonight wasn’t different. The air reeked of sweat and spilled beer, and the sound of bets being placed rattled against the screams of the current brawl. A fighter was thrown into the metal bars with a sickening clang, the crowd howling their approval. You didn’t flinch, couldn’t afford to.

Not when she walked in.

The crowd was still chanting Vi’s name when she staggered out of the cage, jacket slung lazily over one shoulder, blood trickling down her temple. Her stride was confident, too confident for someone whose opponent had nearly taken her head off three times in the last round.

“Rough night?” you called, barely glancing up from the bloodied tape you were sorting.

Vi gave you a crooked grin, wiping her face with the back of her hand and only succeeding in smearing the blood. “Nah. Barely broke a sweat.”

“Is that what you call nearly getting your jaw dislocated?”

She chuckled, plopping onto the chair across from your table. It creaked under her weight. “Guess I’ll take your expert opinion on that, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a cloth and your disinfectant. “Hold still.”

Vi didn’t flinch as you reached for her face, your fingers tilting her chin to inspect the cut on her temple. She was already drenched in sweat and what looked like oil grease, a combination you were growing weirdly used to.

“Seriously, you should take it easy on the booze before fights,” you muttered, cleaning the wound. “You’re slowing down.”

“Didn’t slow down enough to lose, though,” Vi quipped, but there was a slur in her voice, the alcohol thick in her breath.

“Winning doesn’t count if you get yourself killed doing it,” you said, glaring at her. “Next time, I’m not patching you up.”

“Oh, come on, you’d miss me.” Vi’s grin widened, but the teasing didn’t quite reach her eyes.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you focused on stitching up the cut, ignoring the weight of her gaze on you. She was always like this: half-drunk, bruised, and too damn cocky for her own good. But there was something underneath it, something she wasn’t saying.

Something that made your chest ache every time she walked into your station looking like the world had chewed her up and spit her out.

Vi became a regular at your station, whether she needed serious medical attention or not. Most nights, she was the same—reckless, smirking, and smelling faintly of engine oil and whiskey. She talked just enough to keep the silence from settling, but not enough to give away anything real.

You didn’t push her. Not at first.

But over time, she let things slip. Little pieces of her past. A sister she used to look out for. The nights she spent in the Lanes. The bitterness in her voice when she mentioned someone named Caitlyn.

You listened, never prying too hard, and patched her up like always. Some nights, you caught her staring at the pit from the corner of your eye, her knuckles bloody. Other nights, she didn’t talk at all.

And then there were the bad nights.

The bad nights were always worse.

It was one of those nights when Vi stumbled into your station, barely standing. Her opponent had been twice her size and almost as fast—something you’d only caught glimpses of between the crowd surging forward to watch the fight. Vi had won, but the price had been steep.

Blood poured from a cut above her eye, dripping onto her bruised, dislocated shoulder. Her bandage-made gloves were gone, the straps ripped and dragging from her hands.

“Vi,” you said, rushing to her side as she collapsed into the chair. “What the hell happened?”

“Guess I overdid it,” she said, her voice rasping. She winced as you helped her out of her jacket, revealing a nasty gash along her ribs. “You know me.”

“Yeah, reckless as hell,” you muttered, grabbing your kit. “Stay still.”

Vi hissed when you pressed a cloth to her side, but didn’t pull away. “You’re good at this,” she said after a moment. “You always been a medic?”

“Pretty much,” you said, focusing on stopping the bleeding. “Started out patching up people in the Undercity. It’s a skill that keeps you alive down here.”

Vi didn’t answer right away. When you glanced up, you saw her watching you, something unreadable in her expression.

“Why do you care?” she asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“About me,” she said, her voice softer now. “Why do you care?”

You hesitated, your hands stilling for a moment. “Because someone has to,” you said finally. “And because you deserve better than this.”

She snorted, the sound bitter. “Better? This is all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true.” You met her gaze, your voice firm. “You’re more than this, Vi. You just don’t see it yet.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her shoulders tensing under your touch. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked away, her fingers curling into fists.

“Maybe,” she muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

That night marked a shift. Vi started coming to the station earlier, before the fights, something she didn’t do regularly, her sharp tongue softer than usual. She drank less, most of the time, and even started to let you help her fix the binding straps around her chest (since they were miserably dressed in your medical eyes) while talking about something better than oil grease for cage fighting marks.

“Not bad, Doc,” she said one night, watching as you tightened a strap of bandages from behind her. “I didn’t know they could be so much more snug.”

“Yea, now you will be able to fight without looking like this is gonna come right off,” you said with a small smile.

Vi grinned, the first real one you’d seen in weeks, and shook her head. “Alright, alright. Jokes aside, you’re not half bad, you know.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you teased. But inside, you felt something shift, something warm and unfamiliar.

The fights didn’t stop, but Vi’s recklessness eased. She still fought like she had something to prove, but there was a fire in her now, a purpose that hadn’t been there before ever since Caitlyn distinguished it with heartache.

And slowly, she began to trust you with a lot more than little pieces of her past and present.

It wasn’t until one quiet night, long after one of her fights had ended and the crowd had thinned, that Vi finally opened up fully in the medical station.

You were cleaning her up of oil grease since she had missed a few spots, knowing it would be bad for her skin if she slept in it (again), when she had suddenly looked a lot more vulnerable and small.

“I used to fight for something real, something good,” she said, her voice low. She glanced over at you, soft blue eyes meeting yours before looking back down. “Before all of this mess, hell, way before.”

“What happened?” you asked gently.

She hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge her jacket’s hem. “It fell apart. I lost it all. Lost her.”

You didn’t need to ask who “her” was. The weight in her voice said it all.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

Vi looked up, her eyes meeting yours. “Yeah. Me too.”

“But, despite the past still being heavy, how are you right now? In the present?” you asked, breaking the silence. “Are you okay? Doing a bit better than when you first got here at least?”

Vi glanced up, her bruised knuckles resting on the edge of the table. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I just— I also wanted to say thanks.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For putting up with me,” she said, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. “I’m not exactly easy, you know? Especially now.”

“You think I don’t know that by now?” you teased softly to lighten the mood, leaning forward slightly before being more honest. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were worth it.”

Vi’s expression shifted, something warm flickering in her eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I do,” you said firmly. “You’re more than the fights, Vi. You’re more than the past that’s weighing you down. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it too.”

For a moment, she just looked at you, her gaze searching yours like she was trying to find something she’d lost. Then, before you could say anything else, she leaned forward, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

Her fingers were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but her touch was impossibly gentle. Your breath hitched as she hesitated, her eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes, silently asking for permission.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft and tentative, like both of you were afraid to break the fragile moment.

Vi exhaled shakily against your mouth, her hand sliding to the back of your neck as she deepened the kiss just enough to make your heart race. There was no desperation, no urgency—just the quiet, unspoken promise of trust and something new blooming between you.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, her breath mingling with yours.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

Vi let out a breathless laugh, her usual cockiness softened by the vulnerability in her expression. “Guess I’ll have to come back more often, then.”

“Like you needed an excuse,” you teased, your smile widening.

She smiled and shook her head before crushing her lips against yours again, pushing you further into the room so the night could continue with something more than heavy sorrows but light promises.

A/N: I don’t really like this one a lot, might redo it, but this is it for now.

[taeyongdoyoung]

wicked game

summary: you try to seduce the unpopular virgin to win a bet with your stepbrother. your stepbrother wants to sleep with you and you want his car. but the virgin guy has more to offer... pairing: loser virgin!haechan x popular girl!reader genre: angst, romance, smut, high school setting warnings: the bet trope my beloved, manipulative stepbrother!jeno, ex-boyfriend!mark, innapropriate groping in school, one non-consensual cheek kiss, past man-eater y/n, lowkey corruption kink, lots of kissing, handjob, blowjob, eating out, attachment issues, protected sex (unbelievable), classmates to lovers, non-consensual photo-taking, breakfast in bed, break-up, no pain no gain author's note: this is loosely based on the movie Cruel Intentions minus the dying part; disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, i don't actually think Jeno is an A-hole, i just needed such a character for the sake of the plot word count: 3.7k

You're bored. Being the most popular, prettiest and richest girl in high school is not enough to satisfy your greed. Boys are literally throwing themselves at you in every corner. It's almost too easy. You want a challenge. Something to make the last year of school a memorable one. Something fun.

So, when your stepbrother Jeno presents you with an idea, you accept it eagerly.

"If you're so bored, why don't I propose a bet?"

"What kind of a bet?" you eye him curiously.

"See that guy Haechan? I heard he's a virgin and saving himself for his one ~true love~. How fucking pathetic is that?"

"So? What is it to me?" you scoff, though you already have a feeling where this is going.

"If you manage to seduce that fucking loser, I'll give you my Jaguar."

"Oh, that's very tempting," you smirk. "And if I don't?"

"Then, you'll sleep with me," Jeno whispers in your ear.

"Ew, as if. You're my brother," you make a gagging motion.

"Stepbrother," Jeno points out.

"Still, it's gross," you shake your head.

"Are you scared you'll lose?" Jeno sticks his tongue out.

"I haven't agreed to the bet yet," you answer.

But Jeno knows you too well. You are already thinking of ways to ruin that poor boy Haechan.

You approach him that same day, sitting on the empty seat on his desk. Asking him to do homework together...

"Why would I want to spend time with you?" Haechan spits out.

Ouch. Little one is too feisty for a regular loser. This might be more interesting than you initially thought.

"Why not? If you hang out with me, people will think you're cool," you try to attack where you believe it'll sting.

"So? Popularity isn't everything, you know?" Haechan rolls his eyes. "Besides, people who peak in high school spend the rest of their lives leading a mediocre, non-satisfying existence."

Damn. Pretty harsh. You didn't anticipate this would be so difficult. Oh well, all the more motivation to try harder.

"You admit it, then? That I'm at my peak right now," you smile flirtatiously, running a finger across his face.

"It doesn't matter to me where you think you are," Haechan glares at you, grabbing your finger and removing it from his skin. "As long as you get out of my face."

Gee, so aggressive.

"Did I ever do something to you?"

"No, but you messed with my best friend Mark's head. Leading him to believe you cared for him and then ditching him is so not cool. Now, piss off," Haechan grunts angrily.

You don't even remember half of the names of the guys you slept with. But you do remember Mark. He was really sweet. And if you could feel something at all, it would have been guilt. But back when you were with Mark, your mother had just announced she's getting re-married to Jeno's father. So, you were angry at everyone and everything. And you took it all out on Mark.

"Well, I can't change the past, so don't blame me without knowing the circumstances."

"It doesn't matter anyway. Mark found a girl much better than you who's treating him right."

"What about you? Got someone special taking care of you?" you touch him again, this time more forward and shameless, trying to elicit a reaction out of him. Sneaking your hand underneath the desk and caressing him fondly.

"It's n-none of your b-business," Haechan stammers but he doesn't remove your hand this time. Oh, he's so touch-starved this is going to be a lot of fun. For you.

"I could take care of you, you know? Turn all your wildest dreams into reality."

"I know what you are," Haechan shakes his head.

"A vampire!" you gasp in mock surprise.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Haechan fakes a smile. "You're a man-eater. You fuck around with guys and then you leave them to rot. I want nothing to do with you."

"Really? Then, why haven't you removed my hand yet?" you remind him, though perhaps you shouldn't have.

Haechan grabs your wrist, pushing you away firmly.

"You're wrong, you know," you try to convince him of your sincerity. "I'm just as eager to find someone who loves me. Someone worth staying for."

"And what, you expect me to believe that someone is me?" Haechan stares at you sceptically.

"Let's find out, shall we?" you give him a quick kiss on the cheek before he can escape.

And then, you let him be. Enough torture for day one.

You start interacting with Haechan every day. During the first month, you are consumed with thoughts of Jeno's bet. The abominable idea of sleeping with your stepbrother is enough to keep you going. Of course, you know he's not gonna force you into it. But you need the motivation to not lose the bet anyway. The gorgeous car is also pretty seductive.

During the second month, you are consumed with thoughts of Haechan. You begin to realize how lovely, clever and funny he is. And the fact he's even letting you spend time with him is enough to make you happy. You're no longer bored. Because everyday you have something fun to look forward to. You spend time at the school library, doing homework together, occasionally sending memes to each other. You go on little walks and picnics at the park. You even go to the cinema a couple of times, bonding over your shared love for horror movies.

During the third month, the miracle happens. Haechan decides he trusts you enough to invite you over to his place one evening. He even makes the point of notifying you that his parents aren't home. What does he mean by that? Is this an opportunity for you to finally seduce him?

Naturally, you don't get much homework done, before Haechan starts kissing you out of nowhere. You kiss him back eagerly.

"W-what are you doing?" you ask as you notice Haechan has started unbuttoning his jeans.

"I t-thought you wanted this. S-sorry," Haechan looks down, feeling ashamed all of a sudden. He's in a hurry to zip himself again. God, you feel so cruel.

"I d-do," you admit, no longer giving a shit about that stupid bet. "But I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for."

"So, you've heard about what I said at that fucking party?"

"What did you say?" you ask, even though you have an idea of what it involves.

"That I'm saving it for someone special," It being his virginity, you suppose. "Someone who loves me. To be honest, I was really drunk that night. I don't care all that much anymore."

"It's okay to have your principles, Haechan," you try to reassure him and stroke his soft hair gently. "I think it's pretty admirable, actually."

Haechan shakes his head, visibly disagreeing.

"Well, it's fine. I'm ready for this, I promise. Just...don't leave right after, okay?" he pouts.

"Oh, Haechan, of course I won't leave," you reply and surprise yourself in that you really mean it.

Kissing him deeper, you finish what he started and take off his jeans. You touch his cock softly, as if it's the most precious thing in the world. You've done this hundreds of time with guys you didn't give a fuck about and felt nothing, the actions methodical and quick. But this, right now, is more special than your limited vocabulary could ever describe. You realize you genuinely don't want to hurt him. You bow down and envelop your lips around his length. He gets hard easily, considering it's his first time. You suck on him a couple of times and he cums even faster than you anticipated. But for some reason, it's never tasted sweeter.

"S-sorry," Haechan mumbles shyly.

"It's okay, my sweet boy," you coo in his ear, after you're done swallowing his cum. You run your hands through his hair once again. God, it's so silky. You could never get enough of him.

"W-what do I d-do now?" he asks cutely.

"Whatever you want, mon ange," you kiss him once more.

"C-can I eat you out?" Haechan inquires.

Oh, so virgin boy is not so clueless, after all.

"Sure, I guess," you shrug. Not really a huge fan of that, the few times guys have offered, they quickly grow tired of it and could never make you cum as hard as you could by yourself. But it's okay. If Haechan wants to...

"Just...guide me, okay?" he pleads adorably and soon, you find out he needs no guidance at all.

What he lacks in experience, he definitely makes up for with enthusiasm. He seems so eager to please you, licking and biting and kissing your pussy that you cum faster than you have in...well, ever, actually. You grip his hair for support, panting and chanting his name like a prayer.

"Was that alright?" Haechan feigns a self-conscious smile, though judging by your reaction, his smile is already turning into a proud smirk. That bastard.

"Are you kidding? It was...out of this world," you say honestly. Funny thing about honesty is how something that used to be so difficult for you comes so easily to you when you're with Haechan.

"Glad to hear," he grins widely. You want to kiss him every second till the rest of your life. The thought terrifies you.

"I s-should go," you try to get up. You can't do this. You can't be the one to take his virginity. Considering how this all started. It'd be too cruel. He should be with someone special, someone loves him more than anything, someone who'd never hurt him.

"W-what, w-why?" Haechan asks, grabbing your wrist in a panic, not wanting to let go. "I thought you liked me."

"I do like you. I like you so much. That's the problem."

"It doesn't have to be," Haechan disagrees, pushing you back on the bed. "Please, let me."

And here you thought you'd be the one begging him to have sex with you.

"O-okay," you can no longer find it in yourself to deny him. To deny your growing feelings...

Haechan digs through his jeans and pulls out a condom. His hands are shaking and he's having a hard time putting it on so you help him and pull him out of his misery. You give him a soft, reassuring smile, paired with a quick squeeze of his hand. He smiles back just as fondly.

And then he slides inside you so easily. As if he belongs there. As if he's meant to be yours. You kiss him desperately to distract yourself from the truth. To hide the tears that are threatening to come out.

"You f-feel so g-good," Haechan grunts in your ear.

"So do you, baby," you admit sincerely.

This time around, he lasts longer, fucking you until your release comes for the second time. He cums right after, with his hands touching your cheeks, his lips on your neck and his heart on his sleeve.

"Wanna stay inside you forever," he whispers once it's over.

"That wouldn't be very practical," you chuckle. Though you would like nothing more.

But he gets up to get rid of the condom and then comes back, hugging you tightly.

"Can you be my girlfriend?" Haechan blurts out. "I know you probably don't like clingy guys but...considering you've been pursuing me for the past three months, I thought..."

"I'll be your girlfriend," you agree rightaway, not giving a shit about the consequences. "Of course, I will."

He laughs, the sound so precious and filled with joy it breaks your heart.

Maybe he never has to know how it all began. Maybe you could hide it from him forever. Maybe...you could allow yourself to be happy. Just this once.

Soon, Haechan falls asleep, feeling comfortable around you. You know what you have to do, but you feel like shit anyway. You secretly take a picture of his half-naked figure sleeping soundly. You sigh quietly and send the photo to your stepbrother Jeno.

Then, you put your phone down, trying to forget about the whole ordeal. You cuddle up next to Haechan and enjoy his warmth until you fall asleep.

The next morning, you wake up before Haechan and quickly run out to make him some breakfast. You have no idea when his parents will be home but you don't want this to be their first impression of you. So, you leave the breakfast on Haechan's nightstand with a little note.

See you at school, boyfriend! XOXO, Y/N.

Rushing back home, you are satisfied when Jeno gives you the car keys to his Jaguar without protesting. Your stepbrother may be kinda freaky, but at least he's a man of his word. What gives you the creeps is the slight smirk on his face as he hands you the keys. As if he didn't lose the bet. As if he's the winner.

You try not to think about it too much, as you get dressed for school, excited to see Haechan again. You still can't believe he asked you to be his girlfriend. That pretty, sweet boy makes you so unbelievably happy. You look forward to spending more moments in his sunny company.

Haechan wakes up to the smell of warm pancakes, covered with chocolate and strawberries and accompanied by coffee. It immediately brings a smile on his face, which only becomes wider as he sees the little note you left him. He giddily enjoys the breakfast and then rushes to get dressed for school. You're his girlfriend! He's never had a girlfriend and he's so pleased you're being so nice to him. Maybe you really are better than people say and all that past drama was just everyone being jealous of your beauty and popularity...This is going to be the best day of his life.

But when he gets to school, everything changes. He knows that he's considered one of the "losers" in the hierarchy but usually people just ignore him and don't pay attention to him. He's fine with that, really! But today, whenever he walks by, people are snickering and whispering something. It feels so weird and makes him uncomfortable. He can't quite hear what they're saying and this kind of unexpected treatment is killing him.

He goes to his friend Mark to ask him what's up.

"Bro...I don't know how to tell you this," Mark looks away, as if the thing is so bad he can't even say it.

Haechan impatiently begs him to just enlighten him as to why everyone is giving him weird looks all day.

Mark sighs and shows him a secreenshot. There, he sees a photo of himself, half-naked and sleeping soundly. Fuck, that's from last night. And what the messages between you and your stepbrother Jeno reveal...shocks Haechan out of his senses. No...no way it was just a bet. No way you spent three months courting him for a fucking car?! This can't be true. It's gotta be Photoshopped or something.

"Listen, buddy, I warned you that she likes messing with guys and then leaving them."

"No, she...she really seemed to care about me," Haechan is still in denial as his vision becomes blurred with tears.

He runs away, unable to believe what is happening. He needs to speak to you. Hear it from your own lips. To be sure this is real and not just a sick joke.

When he finally finds you, he grabs your wrist as he did just yesterday. But this time, he's not doing to get you to stay. But because he's furious.

"Is it true? Did you really make a bet with Jeno on whether you can fuck me? Did you seriously do all of that over a car?!"

Your facial expressions are enough of an answer. Guilt. Something you never thought you were capable of.

"H-haechan, I swear I can explain," you beg him to hear you out.

"Explain? How can you explain that?" Haechan shakes his head, letting go of your hand. You try to touch him again but he shoves you off furiously.

"It was just a bet at the very beginning. But somewhere along the way, I really started having feelings for you, I promise," you cry passionately. "I don't care about the car, I'll fucking thrash it, I just wanted to get Jeno off my back."

Haechan takes a step back, feeling so betrayed. So...used.

"Whatever you say, I don't think I can believe you anymore. Was it fun, at least? Was this all just a wicked game to you?"

"N-no, it wasn't, I swear it," you are bawling at this point, feeling so pitiful. You don't care if the whole school sees. You only care that Haechan understands. You never meant things to go this far... "I truly care about you, Haechan."

"Yeah?" he scoffs, annoyed. "You only care about yourself."

And with that he leaves. And you lose the one person you truly, genuinely loved.

This is the worst day of your life.

Throughout the rest of the school year you don't dare approach him again. You know you fucked up so badly. You can't even look at that stupid car, let alone consider driving it, so you sell it. Partly because you're angry at Jeno for spreading the screenshot around the whole school. Partly because you no longer want to have anything that will remind you of the biggest mistake you ever made.

With the money you get for the car and some of your own savings, you secretly sponsor Haechan, Mark and their other friends' singing club. You don't even want Haechan to find out. It just...feels right. They could use the extra help.

As the final year of school nears its end, you begin to imagine a future where you never get to see Haechan again. At least, during the past couple of months you had the privilege of looking at him from a distance. But the idea of a world with no Haechan is like a world with no sun.

So, you decide you have to do something as soon as possible. He doesn't have to forgive you or accept you as a girlfriend again. You just want to be in his life in some form.

As you approach the school's radio booth, you feel all the bad things of your past coming back to bite you in the ass. Maybe you deserve to be forever alone. But you need to give it a try. It's your last chance.

"Hi, Mark," you greet your ex-boyfriend.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he sighs, not at all happy to see you.

"Before I get to that, let me just say how sorry I am for the way I treated you in the past. I'm really happy you're finally with someone who appreciates you for how totally awesome you are."

"That's...unexpectedly nice of you to say," Mark eyes you suspiciously. "We were never right for each other anyway. So, what do you want?"

"I want to apologize to Haechan. Through a message broadcasted to the whole school..."

"Gee, and you couldn't do it the old-fashioned way, face to face?" Mark jokes.

"Haechan doesn't wanna see me," you say, fully convinced.

"How would you know without trying?" Mark asks. Has...Haechan told him something? No, you couldn't allow yourself to hope.

"I just know, okay? Please, let me do this. We're graduating in one week, this might be my last chance to talk to Haechan."

Mark nods, agreeing.

"Five minutes," he takes off his headphones and vacates the seat in the radio booth for you.

"Thank you! I mean it," you have never been more grateful for anything.

Mark shrugs as if it's not a big deal and leaves you to it.

"I want to dedicate this so someone I hurt," you speak into the microphone. "Someone who didn't deserve it. Someone very dear to me. Someone I still care deeply about. Haechan, I'm so incredibly sorry, please, give me another chance."

And you start singing.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you It's strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

Your voice is off-key a couple of times and halfway through the song you start crying inconsolably, all the guilt and pain consuming you. The whole school is probably laughing at you but you can no longer bring yourself to care. The only thing that matters is that Haechan hears this.

When you finish the song, you leave the radio booth and are surprised to find Haechan right outside the door, willing to talk to you.

"H-haechan," you stammer and barely resist the urge to give him a hug. You don't want him to feel pressured or anything.

"I'll give you a second chance on one condition. I want Jeno's Jaguar," Haechan jokes.

"Too bad, I already sold it and donated the money to your music club so you guys can get new instruments and stuff."

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Haechan exclaims. He doesn't sound angry, though, just...shocked.

"Sorry, sorry, I know it wasn't my place. But it was so unfair the football team and the cheerleading team get so much money but no one cares about the arts."

"Okay, okay, I guess this is better than that ugly car," Haechan chuckles. The car is not ugly. Not even a little bit. But you appreciate Haechan all the more for saying that.

"Can you really forgive me?" you ask desperately, eyes still watery.

"I can forgive you but I'll probably never forget," Haechan admits with a sigh. "If you break my trust again..."

"I won't, I swear!" you vow seriously. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and treating you the way you deserve. You're the best person I've ever met, Haechan. If you'll have me, I want to be around you forever."

"Forever is a long time" Haechan muses out loud. "Considering we're going to college...I don't even know where you're applying."

"I'll go wherever you go," you say hurriedly.

"You can't give up on your dreams just for me, though."

"I'm not. You're my dream, Haechan. You're my sun and I want to be in your orbit. If you'll allow me, that is," you can't take it any longer and hold his hand softly, asking, begging for that second chance not to slip away.

"I'll allow it," Haechan smiles sweetly. "Let's run towards our dreams together, from now on."

"I won't let you down," you promise from the depths of your heart.

And you finally, truly mean it.

The End

[eiightysixbaby]

eddie in a reindeer costume. that’s it, that’s the post. oh and he’s just like, chronically horny for you.

“Oh, look at you!”

The figure that steps out of the dressing room has your eyes lighting up, your mouth twitching as you hold your laughter off. The person on the other end of your delight is… not so delighted.

“I cannot believe this.” Eddie stands with his hands on his hips, looking down at the holiday monstrosity that is his costume.

He’d lost a bet with Steve, and they’d decided that the loser had to be the final piece to Nancy’s holiday charity event being held at Starcourt Mall.

She already had a Santa, thanks to Chief Hopper. She was going as Mrs. Claus, while you, Robin, and Chrissy had pitched in to be elves. Jonathan got off the hook easy as the designated photographer.

The only thing missing… was Rudolph.

You bring your fist to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger between your teeth to prevent yourself from erupting into a laughing fit.

A pair of opaque brown tights clings to Eddie’s legs, a matching brown tunic of sorts on his top half. There’s a fluffy patch of white fabric at the belly, and a thick red belt around his middle. A red collar adorned with gold bells rests around his neck, and to top it all off, he has a pair of antlers on his head and a red foam ball on his nose.

The only thing that looks remotely Eddie, are the black combat boots they allowed him to wear on his feet.

“Come on, you look adorable!” you say, pinching at the meat of his bicep.

He groans, shaking his head. “I am not going out there like this. This is humiliating!” he grits, his voice coming out somewhat nasally thanks to his fake nose.

“It is not!” you insist, though your giggling gives you away.

“You’re laughing! You can’t even look at me with a straight face!” he pouts, taking in the elf costume you’re wearing.

“Okay, you look hot as fuck in your costume. Like damn, sweetheart,” he says, eyeing you up and down. You flush at his wandering eyes, giddy with his praise — even if he looks ridiculous while giving it.

“The red and green’s really doing it for you? And the hat with the built in elf ears?” you tease, knowing he just likes the way the outfit hugs you in all the right places.

“Babe, like, it’s not even fair how good you look. If I had known Wheeler was gonna put me in a pair of tights, I would’ve literally killed Harrington if it was my only way to win that bet.”

You cradle his cheek in your palm, letting your thumb rub over his skin. “Baby, it’s for the kids, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

“My entire evening is not just a few hours. These tights are gonna cut off all circulation to my fuckin’ dick by the time we’re done here,” he complains.

You shove him playfully, the bells on your outfit jangling with your movement. But he’s not done with the theatrics.

“Oh god,” he says after a pause. “I’m gonna be out of commission. I’m gonna have no dick, they’ll have to amputate.”

“Eddie,” you roll your eyes. “You are so dramatic. The tights are not gonna kill your dick.”

“How do you know that?” he asks, pulling you into him. His big arms wrap around your back, hands holding your ass loosely. “What if wearing this costume means I can never fuck you again? I think I’ll have to tell Wheeler I can’t do it—”

“Eddie!” you say again, scolding him lightly. “You are going out there, whether you like it or not.” You stand on your tip toes, pressing a kiss to his frowning mouth.

“Whyyyyy?”

“Because, it’s for the kids. Like I said. We have to do this.”

He seems entirely unconvinced as he gazes down at you, those big doe eyes of his heavy-lidded as he stares at your red lips.

“What’re you thinking about, Munson?” you ask, recognizing the growing playfulness in his eyes.

“Think we have time for a quickie?”

You press your palms to his chest, shoving him off of you with a laugh.

“I am not fucking you while you’re wearing antlers. Or that big ass red nose.”

“Okay, rude!”

He doesn’t have time to protest any further, because the rest of the group has come to find you. You hear a muffled chuckle from behind you, and you spin around in your green elf boots to face the culprit.

“Aw, well aren’t you just the beacon of holiday spirit!” Steve says, grinning like the devil at your boyfriend.

“I’m actually going to murder you. In cold blood,” Eddie retorts, scowling at the only person not in costume, save for Jonathan. “This isn’t even fair. I have to wear this and Steve just gets off the hook?”

“You lost the bet, Eddie,” Robin chimes in. “A deal’s a deal.”

“Come on, Rudy,” Jonathan pipes up. “We’ve got some Christmas cheer to spread, so get your best smile on.”

“I hate all of you,” Eddie deadpans.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy says, motioning all of you in the direction of your photo-op setup. “You’ll get over it.”

You link your arm with his, squeezing. You stop him from walking ahead, tiptoeing to get your mouth level with his ear.

“As soon as this is over, you can have me however you like,” you whisper. “But you better be the holliest, jolliest one out there tonight, or no deal,” you add, before pulling away in a flash and skipping ahead to catch up with Chrissy.

“Oh god, you can’t be putting that in my head right now!” he groans from behind you.

You hear his collar jingling as he starts to move.

“Wait up!”

[pandapetals]

Chores

You try to get out of doing chores by flirting with Logan.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"I love you," you said, standing on your tiptoes to press a sweet, lingering kiss to Logan's lips, giving him your best wide-eyed, innocent look as you pulled back.

Logan narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice low and amused, "I love you too, but you can't say that just to get out of chores."

You sighed dramatically, making a big show of taking the laundry basket from his hands. "Fine," you huffed, "though it usually works."

Logan’s eyebrow shot up, his smirk widening. "Does it, now? Pretty sure it never works," he drawled, crossing his arms as he watched you with that glint in his eye.

"Oh, please," you scoffed, giving him an exaggerated eye roll. "Usually, I just look up at you with these adorable, puppy-dog eyes…" You leaned in closer, batting your lashes dramatically, “…and then you fold like a cheap lawn chair."

Logan scoffed, leaning back slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "I do not fold," he replied, though you could see the hint of a smile breaking through his mock-serious expression. "I’m not that easy, darlin’."

"Yes, you are," you teased, nudging him playfully. "I bet you’ll fold right now if I try hard enough."

Logan’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he crossed his arms, looking down at you with a challenge in his gaze. "Alright, then," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, rough tone that always made your stomach flutter. "Let’s see who folds first."

You grinned, accepting his unspoken challenge. You sat the laundry basket down. "Fine," you said, stepping up close to him, your fingers lightly tracing the collar of his shirt. "I’ll just keep saying cute little things until you’re putty in my hands."

He chuckled, though you could tell he was already fighting to keep a straight face. "Go on, then," he challenged, his arms still crossed. "Give it your best shot, sweetheart."

You tilted your head, giving him your sweetest smile as you trailed a finger along his jawline. "You know, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met," you said softly, batting your eyelashes. "All gruff and rugged… but with a heart of gold."

Logan’s lips twitched, but he held firm, his arms tightening across his chest. "Nice try," he replied, his voice sounding a little strained. "But flattery ain’t gonna cut it."

"Oh, really?" You bit your lip, pretending to think, then leaned in even closer, your face barely an inch from his. "Did I mention that I’m hopelessly, madly in love with you? That I think about you every second of the day, even when I’m supposed to be doing something else?"

Logan let out a small, almost inaudible breath, and you could see his resolve beginning to waver. His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you knew you were getting to him.

"That all you got, darlin'?" he murmured, though his voice had dropped to a whisper.

You smirked, sensing victory. "Oh, no," you whispered back, reaching up to gently trace your fingers along the back of his neck. "I’ve got plenty more."

Before he could react, you stood on your tiptoes, brushing your lips along the line of his jaw, then murmured against his skin, "You know you can’t resist me, Logan. You’re already melting."

Logan's breath hitched, and he exhaled slowly, the last of his resolve slipping away as he dropped his arms and wrapped them around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, but his voice was soft, his eyes locked onto yours with that familiar warmth. "Fine. You win."

You grinned triumphantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. "See?" you whispered between kisses, "Told you you’d fold."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips quirking up in that lopsided grin. "You might’ve won this time," he murmured, "but don’t think I won’t make you pay for it later."

"Oh, I’m counting on it," you replied, your voice filled with laughter as he pulled you in again, his grip on you tightening.

[robolvrr]

I love love looove the way you write!! I'm 22- and i wanted to ask about your Headcanons for a bi bumblebee.

He's always been proud of looking good, so maaaybe you could give him an opportunity to show off? A car show, or maybe a car wash could be fun.

hot motor oil ☆∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

hahaaa fffkxzkdk. bet! you speaking my language, anon.

bumblebee x gn! human headcanons.

warnings: suggestive/nsfw. exhibitionism, praise, voyeurism.

bumblebee when on earth at his prime is cocky, playful and a thrill-seeker.

while the inability to vocalize is a sore subject, he's never been insecure about his appearance. he's considered very attractive wherever he goes, cybertron and otherwise.

much to optimus's disapproval, he takes the time to find the newest speedsters to scan regularly throughout the decades.

while he's particular with what automobiles he claims, there's a clear taste for flashy, fast horsepower.

he adores weaving between traffic, secret drag races, because the racers and humans react. it's either anger, frustration, awe or jealousy. makes his chassis get all warm knowing that just being in his alt-modes gains attention without applying much effort.

the thing is though - he does. constant buffing. avoids mud like the plague and never gets insects stuck in his grills. his bumper never gets scuffed and he might have found a car wash or two with easy on the optic workers who gladly accept fat tips and rub between his panels and exterior with feather light touches.

they don't look too much through his tinted windshield or question the pink fluids collecting near the drain when he zips off.

when he meets you, he's almost shaking when he learns of your hobbies.

a mechanic? and you spend hours in your garage just.. fixing up cars?

his spark stutters one day relaxing in your detached shed, as you mumble under your breath with your ungloved fingers coated in oil with the popped hood of an '99 ferrari, tongue licking sweat off your top lip so slow he has to lock his tires not to accidently skid the concrete.

"mmm, there ya go. shiny and just as gorgeous. bet i could go on a real fast ride with you now, huh?"

"kkkrrtt! my chick do stuff that your chick wish she could — chhhtk — krrrz!"

"oh my god, bee, please — hey! do not leak in my garage baby."

he has never made his attraction for you quiet.

it's difficult to course through radio signals in regular conversation but you always look so charmed when he chirps out song lyrics you know, so chatting you up during repair sessions is frequent.

once his leash has been loosened some and you're teetering ripping back the veil of platonic and more, you let him know the other aspect of your interests.

he stares at the shiny poster in your hands, watching you animatedly explain just what a "muscle car show" was. his brow ridge raises. okaay, you got his attention.

while you didn't expect to win (which he rolled his optics to because really, this is him you're talking about), it'd be fun. it would only last a few hours. all he has to do is sit still and look pretty.

look still and look. pretty. his flaps flutter, proud. damn straight he's pretty.

when you roll him to the flat plain one saturday afternoon, his wheels look brand-new and his hood has signature, thick black accents.

even has that "new smell" to him, rubber flawless and paint with that glittering coat.

fancy little bastard managed to get some butterfly doors. you coo between his engine revving he's being such a little show-off.

what he didn't expect was the constant attention to be so distracting. it's warm and there's an internal message to start blasting his cooling fans because his temperature is starting to up a tick.

there's so, so many cars. yet he's fully in the center, which means at times he feels like he's being surrounded.

bumblebee takes a gander while he plays some old rock softly to cover the fizzle of his motor, eyeing the classics and more modern bodystyle frames.

almost beeps when you bend down to show a man his chrome mufflers. your hands run along his rims and he's starting to feel.. funny.

"damn. how'd you get such a sexy car?"

"ahh... magician never shares their tricks. wanna feel the inside?"

cue the radio shorting out, because suddenly his doors are unfolding and men and women alike start to crowd him, cooing and taking pictures.

the sensory overload from curious palms smoothing over his dash? you lean into him to adjust his mirror and cheekily grab the clutch. his engine roars.

"you know. i never thought i'd say i fuck a sports car but jesus, you've outdone yourself... oh, cmon, how much you selling for?"

"my bumblebee? girl, i ain't ever putting him up for sale. he's my sweet stallion."

his processor is humming. angles his frontal mirrors as you keep teasing him, even going as far to spank his bumper slightly before bragging about the genuine leather interiors and letting his admirers lounge inside, encouraging them to ask questions.

exhaust slips from pipes as he tries not to let the electricity cloak his frame suffocate when you press a silky smooch on his window. the kiss-mark looks like it's been left behind on foggy, shower glass.

is it a shocker you win? nope. easiest $5K of your life.

there's a final round where you get to drive him around a lap so motor-enthusiasts can gander a final time. he's almost thankful the announcements echo because you're leaned over the wheel, chest pressed up near the horn.

"you like that? you did so fucking good."

"tcccthtt -- whoa, baby you're killin' me! "

"aww, don't get shy. there's a warehouse four miles west from here. take us there. i wanna thank you."

his speedometer breaks when he drifts right out and down the highway, wind zipping back your hair as your laugh cackles out ajar windows.

pure nsfw.

the golden-black charger rumbles down the highway. it's minimal interference, though the turn signal never flashes and it's difficult to see any drivers or passengers inside.

pebbles pluck up and ding the exterior, which is such a shame, because it's such a pretty car!

however, that isn't on anyone's mind at the moment.

bumblebee tries not to hydroplane, because it'd be stupid dangerous and it's not even raining. but you're a tsunami, a distraction of disastrous proportions. your hand is shoved down your shorts and you trail down your tummy before the straps of your underwear twist.

it's a wildly salacious position. your right leg is hiked up on his - your - dash. your left hand rubs vigorously while the right squeezes his clutch and rubs the silver button positioned at its knob.

his engine snarls. his radio glitches and you can hear the rhythmic churn of metal buzzing and gurgles that suggests he's trying to speak.

"yeah? yeah? such a pretty speedster, bee. f-fuck. you're so hot. you're the best."

"breeep!"

"awww, haha -- nnf, did you just honk?!"

the opening to a dilapidated hanger lingers on the horizon. he bulldozed through gravel and rolls up his windows fully to avoid any flying in your face. your hair is messy and both of your feelings are floundering, the beat of your heart loud in your ears.

he can't erase any of this. those wet cries have his intake salivating with lubricant.

there's a wet spot on the driver's seat and he's almost mad that he can't lick it off.

transforming mid-kneel, you're gently shoved out and his servos snatch at you like a toddler with a toy. his bright, blue gaze edged needy when he's pawing off your clothes and manhandling you to get up on his lap.

his pedes scratch against the concrete for purchase. he's whipped. he's so fragging on edge. all the compliments, all the comments, all the touching - he's gonna overload.

let's just say you two aren't getting back to base for the night. especially not with that wry grin on your lips, before you rub down his body like melted rubber.

robolvrr 2024.

[httpvomitello]

Call of Distraction *⁠.⁠✧

Donnie / Leo / Mikey

Raph was in the middle of lifting weights in the lair when April’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and grinned.

“It’s (Y/N),” she said, raising an eyebrow at Raph.

He looked over, feigning disinterest as he kept lifting, but April caught the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Whatever, put her on speaker,” he muttered, trying to act casual.

April rolled her eyes but tapped the button, and your voice filled the room. “April! Please tell me you’re free. I’m drowning over here, and I could really use a break from staring at this ridiculous amount of work.”

“Rough day, huh?” April replied, stifling a smile as she noticed Raph trying not to react.

“Oh, you have no idea. I’ve been buried in paperwork for hours,” you sighed dramatically. “I think my brain is starting to leak out of my ears.”

Raph couldn’t resist. “Sounds like someone’s got a low tolerance for hard work,” he grumbled, loud enough for you to hear but keeping his eyes on his weights.

“Oh, is that Raph?” you shot back. “I thought I heard someone grumbling from the peanut gallery. How’s it going, Big Red?”

He rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smirk. “Better than you, apparently. If I had a dollar for every time you called to complain about work, I’d be a millionaire.”

“Yeah? Well, if I had a dollar for every time you were a pain in the ass, I’d be right there with you,” you quipped back.

Mikey, watching from across the room, snickered and whispered to Donnie, “They’re like an old married couple. Look at him tryin’ to keep cool.”

Raph shot his brothers a warning glare before replying to you. “Hey, I’m just saying, maybe if you stopped yappin’ and started working, you wouldn’t be ‘drowning’ all the time.”

“Aw, Raph, I didn’t know you cared so much about my productivity,” you replied sweetly, dripping with sarcasm. “You sound just like a concerned parent.”

April covered her mouth to hide her laughter, watching as Raph’s face turned slightly pink. “I ain’t concerned,” he grumbled, barely able to mask his smile. “Just pointing out that maybe whining about it won’t get the job done.”

“Fair point,” you shot back, tone playful. “But, hey, maybe if you actually visited once in a while, you’d see that I don’t just sit around whining. Not that you’d have the guts to come out of that sewer.”

“Oh, you think I wouldn’t?” he replied, straightening up and putting down his weights. “I’d show up anytime if it meant shutting you up for five minutes.”

“Bet you wouldn’t last five minutes around here without getting bored out of your mind,” you countered, clearly entertained.

“Oh yeah?” he shot back, his voice a mix of irritation and amusement. “Bet I’d get you to quiet down faster than you think.”

“Bring it on, then,” you challenged, laughing. “I’d love to see you try.”

“Alright, alright,” April interjected, clearly enjoying the exchange but finally deciding to step in. “Before this escalates into a full-on fight, maybe we should end the call?”

“Wait, wait!” you cut in. “Raph, come over next time me and April hang out. You know how much I love pushing your buttons.”

Raph froze, his brothers all looking at him with wide grins, barely containing their laughter.

“Uh—" Raph stammered, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to keep his cool, but a blush was definitely creeping in. “Well… maybe you just think you’re good at it. Doesn’t mean I’d let you win.”

“Oh, trust me,” you replied smoothly, “I’d win. Easy.”

Raph was about to reply, but April, stifling her laughter, ended the call before he could get another word in. The moment she hung up, his brothers lost it, laughing hysterically at his barely-concealed fluster.

“Aw, come on, Raph!” Mikey teased, clapping him on the back. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Raph shrugged it off, though his ears were definitely still pink. “Shut it, Mikey. She’s just—she’s just annoying, that’s all.”

Donnie smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure. And that’s why you haven’t missed a single chance to throw in a comeback, right?”

Raph just grumbled, pretending not to care as he picked his weights back up. But deep down, he was already hoping you’d call again soon—if only so he could have the last word.

[rose24207]

An angel

Summary: guilt eats Lando alive when he wants to come clean to you after dating you for a bet. What he didn’t expect was that you would be so understanding and calm about it.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: Carlos and max being assholes (sryy), Lando too

A/N: I genuinely think that I would also react like this and I think that’s pretty much sums up the person I am :(

Masterlist pt. 2

It was supposed to be a joke. That’s what Lando told himself when it all started. A stupid, harmless joke that spiraled so far out of control, he found himself falling in love with you—only to be crushed by the weight of his own lie.

The bet was Carlos’ idea, though Max quickly joined in. They were sitting together at a bar in Monaco after a long day of training, laughing and teasing each other like they always did. That’s when you walked in, a vision of effortless beauty, with a smile so captivating even the loud music seemed to fade into the background.

Carlos noticed the way Lando’s gaze lingered on you. “You’re staring, mate,” he teased, nudging him.

Max smirked. “Bet you couldn’t get her number.”

Lando rolled his eyes, feigning indifference. “Easy.”

But Carlos upped the stakes. “Forget her number—bet you can’t get her to date you. Three months, minimum. Make her fall for you.”

Lando hesitated, but Max chimed in, grinning. “If you win, we’ll cover your next holiday. Private jet, five-star everything.”

Fueled by bravado, ego, and the lingering effects of too many drinks, Lando shook their hands, sealing the deal.

The plan was simple: charm you, date you for a while, and win the bet. But nothing about you was simple.

When he approached you that night, he expected the same predictable reactions he always got—flustered stammering or overly enthusiastic flirting. Instead, you met him with warmth and genuine curiosity, treating him like a regular guy rather than the celebrity everyone else saw.

He was hooked.

Every date with you felt like uncharted territory. You laughed at his dumb jokes, shared your dreams with him, and listened intently as he opened up about his fears and insecurities. For the first time in his life, Lando felt truly seen.

What started as a game quickly became the most important thing in his life. But the secret of how it began loomed over him, a constant reminder of his betrayal. He told himself he’d find the right time to come clean, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

And now, three months in, he was drowning in guilt.

It was a quiet evening in his Monaco apartment. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine while he paced nervously in the kitchen. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but every scenario ended with you walking out the door.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice trembling.

You looked up, immediately sensing the tension. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his hands fidgeting.

You set the magazine aside, concern etching your features. “Of course. What’s going on?”

He sat down across from you, his heart pounding. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “Okay…”

Lando took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember the night we met? At the bar?”

You nodded. “Of course. Why?”

“There’s… something I didn’t tell you about that night.” He hesitated, his stomach churning. “Carlos and Max… they made a bet with me. They bet I couldn’t get you to date me for three months. And I…” He swallowed hard, his eyes welling up. “I took the bet.”

Your expression froze, the weight of his words sinking in. “A bet?”

He nodded, his voice breaking. “At first, it was just stupid. I didn’t think it would matter. But then I got to know you, and everything changed. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I swear, this—us—became real so quickly. But I lied to you, and I hate myself for it.”

Silence filled the room as you processed his confession. He braced himself for the anger, the heartbreak, the inevitable goodbye.

But what came next surprised him.

You reached out, taking his trembling hands in yours. “Lando,” you began gently, your voice calm but steady. “Thank you for telling me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not… angry?”

“I won’t lie,” you admitted. “It hurts to know how it started. But what matters more to me is that you told me the truth. You didn’t let me find out from someone else, and I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. “It wasn’t. I’ve been so scared of losing you, Y/N. You’re everything to me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I had to tell you. You deserve better than this.”

You squeezed his hands, your own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Lando, everyone makes mistakes. What matters is what you do after. You could’ve kept lying, but you didn’t. You chose honesty, even though it scared you. That says a lot.”

“I love you,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I love you so much. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his cheek, wiping away his tears. “I love you too. And I believe you. I believe in us.”

His breath hitched as he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like you were his lifeline. “You’re an angel,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re too good for me.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m not an angel, Lando. I’m just someone who loves you enough to see the good in you, even when you make mistakes.”

From that moment on, things changed. Lando became a man on a mission, determined to show you how much he valued you. He went out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated—surprising you with thoughtful gestures, supporting your dreams, and being more open and vulnerable than ever before.

The guilt still lingered, but your forgiveness gave him the strength to move forward. And as time passed, the scars of the bet faded, replaced by a love that was stronger than ever.

Because at the end of the day, love wasn’t about never making mistakes. It was about owning up to them, learning from them, and choosing each other—no matter what.

And as Lando held you close that night, he silently vowed to never take your love for granted again. You weren’t just the best thing that had ever happened to him—you were his everything.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[occamstfs]

Roommates’ Trivial Tiff

Pretty standard nerdy asshole to himbo TF, who doesn't love some cosmic justice ! -Occam

“You just don’t understand what it’s like dude. You have no idea how hard all this stuff is for me.” Brock was struggling to get through to his roommate, someone he has time and time again been more than cordial with. In response Harvey scoffs and rolls his eyes refusing to engage and instead doubling down, “I’m sure it’s real difficult with all your paid tutors and your-” 

“You’re not even listening bro! You like to think you’re so elevated, like you have all the answers but you don’t even try to understand what anyone else is going through.” Harvey grimaces and briefly tosses about whether or not this is true but stubbornly neglects to internalize the criticism, “Uhh, I do too?” Brock bites his tongue to prevent just blowing up at his roommate and instead he tries a different angle, “Oh yeah? If that’s the case then, bet you know a lot about me huh? Since we’ve been roommates for a year now,” pausing as he narrows his eyes briefly at Harvey, “and ostensibly we’re friends right?”

Harvey struggles not to display his ever present irritation as he retorts, “Of course we are, uh, dude.” Brock does a better job hiding his intentions as he issues a challenge, “so if we were to say, quiz each other you think you’d come up on top lil dude?” With this gauntlet laid there is little recourse in Harvey’s mind but to accept it, there are few times he enjoys showing off so much as in a trivia contest. So what he might have a less than pristine record of respecting oafs like his roommate, he is certainly not to lose in any battle of the wits regardless of topic or stipulations there may be.

Brock puts out his hand and states the stakes, “You can of course bow out whenever, but uh, how about every question the winner takes something from the loser?” Harvey was resolved to win before hearing the terms and is now spitefully even more eager now as he eyes Brock’s side of the room looking for whatever his prize is sure to be.

Without any further clarification Brock promptly launches into the game, “I guess we’ll start real easy yeah? Only fair.” Harvey feels resentment start to brew as he feels he’s being talked down to as Brock goes on, “For starters then, What’s my major?” Harvey audibly gulps and feels his face blanche as he scrambles to find such an incredibly simple answer. This is such an obvious and pressing piece of information it would be impossible not to have it on deck.

Seeing the hesitation Brock laughs incredulously, “God dude are you kidding? How could you not know this, I-” He shifts his jaw waiting for the second shoe to drop as it is suddenly clear he is about to clean house, this asshole is going to learn respect by hook or by crook. Harvey’s eyes that were just hungrily looking through Brock’s possessions now retread their path, searching for the answer, his eyes linger on some sports bandages and protein powder and he kicks himself for forgetting. “Well duh dude, you’re doing a sports medicine or a trainer degree or whatever. Sorry that I forgot what the proper name is, it’s not exactly high in the list of things I need to know.”

Brock stares down at the clueless nerd before him and slowly shakes his head. “Not even close Harv. It’s-” Before he can finish though Harvey stands and shouts, “Don’t fucking call me that! I bet you don’t know mine either!” This leaves Brock aghast, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, “Of course I fucking do! You never shut up about it! I’m lucky if my headphones can block out you whining about homework while also constantly talking yourself up! It’s so, fucking, annoying!”

Hurt by this despite his typical apathy to others Harvey starts up once more, “Okay but you didn’t say-” “Computer Engineering.” Harvey blushes in shame, not over his disrespect but of getting the question wrong. Suddenly there’s a hum in the room and the shadows in the corner grow darker and Brock looks around, “Well I suppose that question really tees me up on what to take huh? I’ll take your major.”

“Wha?” caught on the other foot Harvey blinks and sees that his textbooks and assignments are suddenly piled on Brock’s desk. He feels anxiety rise in his chest unsure of what has happened though confident this must be a prank or something. “No no no that can’t be right? What is happening?” He then returns to look at his roommate once more, a scowl plastered on his face as Brock who, despite his impressive stature always aims to present as kind and gentle, cannot help but smirk as he feels he has gotten one over on this jerk.

He stretches, exposing his midriff and flexing  his arms behind his head, perhaps to try and allure or intimidate Harvey, he’s not sure, but Harvey is not going to just take this sitting down.Though at the present, he is too uncomfortable to even vocalize his discomfort as he stands there trying not to shake. Instead Brock begins once more, “Urgh kinda see what all that complaining was about now Harv, kinda got a lot on my plate now hah!”

Harvey stares daggers at his roommate, “Brock I don’t know what kind of nonsense is going through your dumbass ox brain. But it’s not funny, I’m sure you’re used to bullying little g-”

“Excuse me? I’m a bully!? I know you’re not saying that, I go out of my way to be kind, even to little chip on their shoulder assholes like you. I just,” Brock takes a deep breath and flexes his jaw before he continues. “It doesn’t matter actually. I trust you have a vested interest in trying again though right? Surely you want your major back?”

At the moment Harvey is caught between the idea that this is some kind of Christmas Carol-ass dream where he’s supposed to learn a lesson or once more that this is just a prank by Brock. Amenable as he’s always been, Harvey's convinced that behind this lunkhead is the vitriol of the typical jerk jock. In this impossible chance that this is reality though, he can’t just give up his major. He needs it to be an, uh? God what was, no what is his major anyway? 

Harvey looks around in shock as he suddenly can’t bring his current course schedule to his mind, but he was literally in class this morning right? He feels his coursework draining from his mind as fear and rage begin to rise in his frail body. Images of lecture halls and professors flash through his mind before they just as swiftly dissipate, somewhere within him deeper than memory he feels that he was studying something with numbers. Mathematics, physics, engineering, something he was good at. He is determined to get that back as he speaks up finally, “What is the next question.”

Brock smiles and toys around in his head, confident that he will end up on top. “How about you pick this one, give you a fighting chance.” Harvey purses his lips and struggles to produce a question that he knows the answer to that his roommate will not. Oh duh, he’ll just ask him a math question, easy! Certainly not the aim of the game but Harvey just needed to get his life back. “What’s a derivative.” 

“Kinda not in the spirit of the game dude but whatever. I took calc you know. It’s the rate of change in response to a variable. Now since you’re still being an ass how about I lob one back? How about you derivative 𝑓(𝑥)= 2cos⁡(𝑥)−6sec⁡(𝑥)+3?” Harvey is flat stunned, this is some entry level shit but he cannot for the life of him bring the information to mind. He’s just as sharp as he always has been but anything beyond rudimentary trig is continuing to trickle out of his mind. He meekly chuckles out, “uh easy, it’s f(x) equals, uh tan-”

There’s a blaring in his head as both men are aware of his immediate slip up. Energy once more rises in the air as Brock looks down almost pitifully at his roommate this time. “Now I am sorry for this Harvey but, oof that course load! Like you so relish to say, I am just not that bright hm?” Harvey shakes his head as he realizes the horror about to occur. Brock looks a little uncomfortable as he continues, “After failing to pull your little gotcha, I think I’ll just go ahead and have your intelligence.” 

Both men are instantly struck with headaches the likes of which neither could endure under normal circumstances. As soon as the pain arrives though it is converted into a deep profane pleasure. Pins and needles fill Brock’s mind as it becomes heavy. Ideas and understanding fill his mind as a euphoric warmth flows through him. Harvey had enjoyed learning without truly lifting a finger, he had flourished and gained knowledge through no effort on his part but simple absorption. Brock is overcome with the ease at which he will now flow through life. Equally is he overcome by the ecstasy within his body as it only continues to heighten.

Opposite him Harvey clutches at his head as now not only do his learned experiences at university vanish, but all of his capabilities as a student and academic. Even the pleading within his mind slows down as he feels his ability to swiftly process information breaks down. Harvey turns from the man across from him as Brock’s hands feel up and down his musculature in rapturous delight, just in time to see whatever books and tomes he had collected as trophies begin to fade into the aether along with his memories of reading them. He looks down at his hands in confusion and horror, even with his unaddled mind at full steam he could not make sense of what has befallen him. He knows this is not right.

He is unable to find any answers, though as he searches his brain he begins to find a pleasant warmth in the vacuum where there once was knowledge. While his mind has been emptied, the bulge in his crotch demands his attention, which shall likely be a constant issue now that his mind shall evermore be less than preoccupied. He feels his mouth start to fill with drool as he looks down at his cock as it almost feels larger than it should be. He almost laughs at the idea that from now on he may fully be thinking with his cock. He opens his mouth allowing drool to spill out which shocks him back to sense and he turns around to demand that Brock return this all to sense immediately.

Brock for his part is reclined in a chair just rubbing his cock over his shorts almost forgetting about what they had been doing not seconds earlier. He laughs as he sees the expression on Harvey’s face, “Woah dude sorry about that, got lost in my own mind for a second there! No wonder you had, or have rather, such an attitude problem. It all just came so easy to you didn’t it? I mean we could keep going if you want, what else do you have to lose yeah?” Harvey wipes the drool from his face and takes stock, he can still read, he is pretty confident he still passed high school, he remembers his life before whatever hell is currently happening as well as whatever this new reality is. He nods his head and pushes his erection down as it continues to rise upon seeing his roommate’s cocky repose. He answers, “let’s keep going. Your question right?”

Harvey can’t help but trace Brock’s traps as he shrugs, “If you insist lil bro. What’s my middle name?” He knows this one for sure, he would bring it out to tease his roommate as needed. Brock slams his arm down in excitement and shouts, “fucking Laurel!” then he recalls this is only half the battle, Brock must also get his wrong, “what’s mine?” Brock smirks once more and laughs as he stretches to scratch his back, his roommate hungrily staring, “you don’t have one dude”

The energy rushing between the two men is drastically different this time. Unlike the pleasurable prickles of knowledge or the soothing burn of loss there is a direct, deeper connection between the two. Brock’s grin grows wider as understands, “Oh I getcha, question’s a tie so we share the spoils Harv. Only fair that since you’ve the mind of a what, meathead? May as well have the body of one.”

Harvey watches as his roommate takes off his shirt, he feels a warmth in his chest as he stares directly at Brock’s pecs. His breath catches as he watches his roommate flex them and he feels a nervous energy begin to surge within his own. He’s never had pecs before but he feels his chest pushing, growing, into his shirt. He sees his nipples harden and grow too large to ever hide as his chest expands. His swallows to stop from drooling once more as he sees Brock pose and flex his massive biceps, forcing a burning delight down the whole of Harvey’s arms. He matches the pose of the powerful man he has spoken nothing but ill of and flexes, sweat immediately staining through his shirt as the energy and strain heats his body beyond reason.

At the same time both men drop into a crunch, there is a loud tear as the pants of both men tear as they reach the lowest point in the crunch as Harvey’s ass bursts larger and his thighs swell with strength well enough to carry his increasingly top heavy torso. Not only is Harvey to gain the muscle of a tight jock, but the masculinity expected. The cock he has been til now proud enough of pulses with his heartbeat, with each pump it gorges larger, veins thick as the ones surging down his biceps force his cock thicker and further down his strained shorts. He tears at his pants to free his bulge as his balls bloat to the size of eggs, they pull tight ass they’re exposed to the air and all the soreness, strain, and pain of his still growing body becomes agonizing delight.

Harvey’s eyes water as he struggles to even stay cogent with the pleasure and power coursing through him. He smells his new musk breaking through his senses. Through the burning bedlam across his body he feels a soothing burn as hair begins to sprout and thicken where every man should make clear his masculinity. His pubes thicken and curl beyond his waistline and his pits grow wild and begin to spread to make it clear they, nor his musk, can ever be contained.

He lies, sits, writhes, flexes, exists in nothing but pleasure for some time, no longer concerned for his lost intelligence, beyond the care of his education. His hands, larger and painted with still thickening hair, press tight against his body as he feels the new contours of his body. Each new valley and mountain is a testament to the ecstasy he shall now prioritize above all. Until his roommate’s voice breaks through the haze, “Fuck bro you’re really feeling yourself huh?” Harvey’s eyes open to see Brock’s arrogant sneer has only grown worse as he has contendly watch Harvey lavish his new corpus.

Harvey meets it with a scowl and Brock tilts his head, “Want to do one last question then, bro?” His smile grows tight as he tries not to laugh as the appellation of bro has become the paramount definition of this once genius. Harvey just nods his head, still understandably disoriented as he lies in a pool of his own sweat and pre that remains dripping directly onto the floor. Brock motions for him to ask whatever the presumably final question is but is met with a grunt and a wave of the hand. Brock grimaces slightly, “if you insist bud,” he grimaces slightly as he looks down at the man. Asshole he may have be, may still be even, surely there’s something Brock could do to fix even that. He leans to whisper the question in Harvey’s ear, “what color are my eyes.” 

Between grunts, Harvey strains to look at his roommate only to find them obviously closed. His body contorts with pain and pleasure as he feels the throes of defeat and one final lose begin to seize him. He groans out through clenched teeth as his jaw widens and his brows thicken as changes already begin to work upon his mind, “don’t… know…” Brock nods and sits next to his roommate laying Harvey’s head on his lap. At the point it would be a kindness for the man to forget his life before, and that is exactly what he is to do. 

Brock removes the memories and identity of the sour nerd that made life perpetually unpleasant not only for him, but anyone unlucky enough to grace his presence. His breathing speeds up as his body heat rises beyond imagination, sweat turning to steam in the cold dorm room as he shakes his head and clenches his fists. He writhes only briefly, each flex of his body a final protestation of Harvey as Brock erases even his name from his head. 

After a minute of this his body goes still before he opens his eyes blearily and groans. Still lying in Brock’s lap he stretches his arms, turning to smell his impossibly rank pits before turning it into a flex as he must do anytime he raises them. Brock watches this with trepidation, unsure of who exactly his roommate is to be now before suddenly a name surges into his mind, Bull. Perfect fodder for the jerk he once was and an apt name for the behemoth lying on his lap. Testing the waters Brock pats his chest to wake him up, “Morning Bull.”

He yawns and scratches at the same stubbled face he has always known and he sits up, “urgh got a massive headache bro, must have gone pretty hard to have a hangover this bad huhuh! Wanna go grab brekkie and hit up the gym?” Brock stifles a smirk and helps his roommate up to standing, slightly surprised to see him standing taller than himself before responding, “You got it big guy, how about you get some clothes on first though right?” Bull guffaws, looking down at his hairy sweat-drenched body as he throws an arm around his roommate, cock bobbing around in the open air, still chubbed up. “What would I do without you bro huhuh!” 

Brock looks to see all of Bull’s tops have changed to stringers and tanks. Where Harvey had nothing but pants Bull has piles of unwashed athletic shorts, one of which he promptly throws on, going commando. Seeing Brock watch him, Bull grabs at his crotch and juts at the door, “Come on bro! Faster we get a pump in faster we can get back here and have some fun dude.” 

With that Bull again throws his arm around Brock, once more smelling his b.o. as he almost deliberately spreads it on his roommate’s neck, like an animal marking its territory. The two then off to start their day, in Bull’s mind as they always have. Brock feels his crotch grow weightier as the amble down the hall, unsure if he’s made a horrible mistake in all this. Who is he to say what is too far in acts of cosmic retribution. Brock is certain at the end of the day he and Bull are at least to have quite a bit of fun.

[kaisacobra]

I Dare You - Tara Carpenter

Summary: When Amber Freeman, Tara's best friend (and secret crush) dares her to win a random person over, she thinks it's gonna be an easy task. What she wasn't expecting, however, was that y/n y/l was far more interesting than she thought.

Warnings: Painter!Fem!Reader, very small mentions of sex and alcohol, non-canon/high school!AU, angst? ish?

W.C: 6.0k

a/n: She's back! This is probably not my best one but i was desperate to write something again and end my awful writers block. Anyways, i do think this will be a small series so stay tuned for that!

Tara’s head was pounding.

The school day had barely started and she couldn't stand being there any longer. Contrary to what many might think, her discomfort didn't come from the noise of lockers banging or the loud chatter and laughter of the students in the hallways. In fact, the reason had a first and last name: Amber Freeman, her best friend and secret crush, who seemed very intent on recounting every detail of her hookup with a girl last night.

“And then she asked me to...”

“That's enough! I definitely don't need to hear about what sex position you used, or anything like that.” Tara held up one hand, grimacing in disgust as Amber laughed beside her, opening her locker without the slightest shame at what she had said.

“Come on, Tara! Don't be so grumpy.” The dark-haired girl gave her a fake pout, purposely trying to annoy her friend. “I needed that! Do you know how long it's been since I've been with anyone? Too long!” 

And not only did Tara know how long it had been since Amber had kissed anyone, she also knew exactly why it had happened. Tara had a certain advantage at school for hanging out with Amber, who carried the title of most popular and desired girl for her unattainable energy, memorable parties and, of course, singular beauty.

Hanging out with Amber and basically being her right-hand woman meant that Tara was also popular by proxy. The students knew exactly who she was and, what's more, they knew that if they messed with Tara, they would have to deal with the wrath of the implacable Amber Freeman, which came in handy when Tara needed to “gently” convince multiple people in the school that Amber would never be interested in them behind her back. 

Apparently, someone had slipped through her fingers. 

Tara didn't bother to offer an answer to her friend, just rolling her eyes and closing her locker without much strength, so as not to make her growing migraine even worse. Unfortunately, Amber had never been the kind of person to wait for an opening to speak her mind. “You know, I bet that bad mood of yours would be cured if you loosened up a little bit. When was the last time you kissed anyone?” 

“Who kissed who?” 

Tara leaned her shoulder on the locker behind her to watch the arrival of Wes, closely followed by Liv and Chad, who walked hand in hand, followed by the stares of the crowd of teenagers who either wanted to be them or wanted them to be gone. The trio, along with Tara and Amber, were considered the “popular crew” at Woodsboro High School, even though the Carpenter girl hated the term because she considered it extremely cliché and tacky.

Liv and Chad were the typical American high school couple made up of a cheerleader and a soccer player. Tara had known Chad the longest, having him as a childhood friend, and she watched first-hand as he became more and more enamored of his influence through his status as a star quarterback, especially as he gained the attention of his current girlfriend and the entire school. Liv was the typical mean girl cheerleader who was extremely empty and desperate to stay relevant in the social hierarchy. Tara didn't understand what Chad saw in her, but she put up with the girl because Amber wanted her around for some reason. 

Wes, on the other hand, was an exception. He used to be a loner until Amber took him under her wing after she discovered his status as the sheriff's son, which the girl used as a pass to get out of trouble more easily. Wes knew that his position in the group was fragile and so he constantly tried to compensate by bringing up gossip that he found out about the whole school.

He was still waiting for an answer when Amber slipped an arm around Tara's shoulders, ruffling her hair. “Tara here is in a bad mood today. I was trying to tell her that the way to solve it is with a good makeout sesh.”

You could help me with that, Tara thought, but other words came out of her mouth, “Shut up. I'm just not in the mood for anything right now, that's all.”

Tara knew that hooking up with Amber, if it ever happened, would be both her blessing and her curse. Amber was the type of girl who would rather die than get into a serious relationship and, if Tara was going to be honest, she knew the girl would be a terrible girlfriend. Too bad her little crush couldn’t think rationally.

Liv smirked in her usual evil little laugh. “Yeah. I bet you're only saying that because you've been left on the shelf.”

Amber and Wes hissed and whistled teasingly, trying to get an even bigger reaction out of Tara. Chad raised his eyebrows in shock, glancing briefly at the shorter girl before focusing down on his phone. Tara felt a wave of pride and piled up anger rise up inside her. She crossed her arms defensively, scoffing as she glared at Liv. “Oh, please. You know very well that I could get with whoever I wanted at this school.”

Okay, maybe the words were a bit exaggerated and presumptuous, but it's not like she was wrong. Popularity aside, Tara knew damn well that she was a pretty girl and she wasn't afraid or ashamed to use her charms to get what she wanted sometimes.

“Whoever you wanted, huh?” Amber smiled mischievously as she heard the phrase and the evil glint in her dark eyes, which usually appeared when she was coming up with her crazy plans, began to show. “Interesting. We should prove that somehow, Carpenter.”

“Whatever.” Tara rolled her eyes, internally wishing that the matter would be closed soon. The more Amber stared at her like that, the redder Tara’s cheeks became and that was going to be impossible to hide in a few minutes.

“Ah, ah! Don't chicken out now, Carpenter.” The raven haired girl raised her index finger, shaking it in a negative. “I've got a great idea! Why don't I just pick a random person and you have to hookup with them, hm? Come on, Tara. I dare you.”

The three other teens let out more roars of approval, patting Amber on the shoulder for her brilliant idea and trying to convince Tara to go through with the challenge, offering half encouraging words and half biased questions along with “Are you scared?” and “Can you handle it?”.

The Carpenter girl felt at a crossroads. On the one hand, she definitely didn't want to do it. Her small (and growing) crush on Amber was already too much sentimental work for her, not to mention the fact that she wasn't at all keen on the idea of kissing some random stranger, especially knowing that Amber would choose the most embarrassing option possible.

On the other hand, a part of her was always tempted to indulge Amber Freeman's desires, eagerly searching for a hint of approval or recognition in those umber eyes that usually carried nothing but sarcasm and boredom.

So Tara didn't even have to consider long before she groaned in displeasure, closing her eyes and leaning her head back until it rested on the locket’s door. “Fine, whatever. But if you pick some weirdo who eats his own snot, I swear...”

Tara's thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise of something hitting the floor, followed by some snickering and murmuring from everyone in the hallways. She lifted her head to see through the crowd, searching for the reason for the commotion while already hearing her friends laughing beside her.

When the crowd finally cleared enough for Tara to be able to see, she was faced with the scene of a girl slowly picking herself up off the ground, peeling off a canvas that still looked wet from her T-shirt, now completely stained with paint. Another football player seemed to be trying to apologize for something, to which the girl only responded with a nod of her still lowered head.

"Holy shit." Amber laughed, holding her stomach as if she were at a comedy show. "What a dumbass. Hey, isn't that one of Mindy's little friends?"

Chad looked up, looking away from his phone when he heard his twin sister's name being mentioned. He let out a sound of confusion at first, but following the gaze of the others, the boy finally nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Y/n Y/l."

Tara watches with furrowed brows as the girl walks further into the corridor, clearly unhappy with her ruined painting and clothes. When she focuses back on her friends, Amber's mischievous gaze is already on her. "I think we've met your challenge, Tara."

The shorter girl's eyes widened comically and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Chad had a similar reaction

Mindy used to be part of the group made up of the childhood friends: Tara, Chad, Mindy and Amber, at least until the beginning of high school, when everything related to her became a forbidden topic and the group underwent a change of members. What happened was that the girl had called Amber a bitch for cheating on Mindy with her girlfriend at the time, causing a rift that was never repaired. Chad had to beg Amber not to do anything drastic against his sister, which she begrudgingly accepted, but also didn't allow any of the others to have contact with her.

"Amber, are you sure?" Tara subtly tried to change Freeman's mind, already anticipating the huge mess that could arise between the former friends. "I mean, she's Mindy's friend and she's kind of quiet. Maybe she hasn't even kissed anyone yet."

A bit harsh, but that's the impression Tara got from the little she knew about you. She had never heard you speak in any of the classes you had together, she always saw you either with Mindy's group or on your own and the most she knew was that you were good enough at painting to paint a mural behind the bleachers at the school's request.

Unfortunately, Amber couldn't care less about any of these set of reasons. In fact, they even seemed to encourage the dark-eyed girl, who just shrugged. "Even better. You'd be doing her a favor and we wouldn't be attacking Mindy directly. Sounds like a win-win to me."

Tara looked at the others, analyzing their reactions to the plan. Wes and Liv had already agreed to it a long time ago and were now trying to pressure the shorter girl into accepting. Chad met Tara's gaze and shrugged, although his wrinkled forehead gave away his distaste for the whole idea.

The Carpenter girl sighed, suddenly feeling crowded despite only having four people around her and an entire hallway available for her to run down if she wanted to.

The problem was that she didn't. Not when Amber's beautiful manic eyes were staring at her with such expectation, making Tara's stomach do somersaults. So Tara just nodded her head in a yes, receiving happy shouting and pats on the shoulder as a reward.

"Y/n Y/l is the target, then."

_

To say that your day sucked would be an understatement.

First of all, you'd spent the whole week racking your brains, trying to somehow find inspiration to do a painting for art class, but your creativity had gone out the window. The best you could do to produce your teacher's homework request: “Represent a personal happy moment”, was an adaptation of a Polaroid you had taken with your friends a few months ago.

Being a perfectionist who already thought your artwork wasn't good enough, you decided to add a few touches on it a few minutes before arriving at school, trying to convince your inner art critic that the painting wasn't so bad.

Unfortunately, the second problem came at the exact same minute you set foot in the school, or rather, the minute one of the football idiots stepped in your way, causing you to trip and fall right on top of the canvas that wasn't yet dry.

You barely heard the boy's apology, just nodding and struggling to get out of the hall as quickly as possible, wishing the ground would swallow you up soon so you couldn't hear the loud snickering of the other people in the hallways.

Luckily for you (because something in your day had to go right), you had a spare T-shirt in your locker, near the art room. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, having a big Jason vs Michael Myers fan art printed on it, but at least it was better than spending the rest of the day in a shirt that looked like it had been vomited on by a unicorn.

You sighed, placing the canvas, now destroyed, on one of the empty easels in the art room. The once uniform colors now blended into a mess of paint that, until earlier today, had represented your face next to those of your friends, enjoying a summer's day in Woodsboro. The green of Anika's blouse had mixed with the chocolate of Mindy's skin, the white of the sun had stained the brown of Ethan's hair and the faces of the four of you had become a single blur, exactly where you had crashed into earlier.

“I thought you didn't do abstracts.” A familiar voice echoed into the room and you turned just in time to see your favorite teacher, Ms. Crane, entering the room with her typical warm smile. As always, the art teacher was wearing a light dress and her blonde hair was perfectly tied up in a bun, which by this point was her trademark.

“I don't.” You replied simply, pointing disappointingly at the disaster on canvas you had made. “I couldn't think of anything during all week so I tried to finish it this morning, but then the paint wouldn't dry and I ended up falling on it.”

The teacher grimaced, her big blue eyes looking at you with some concern as she left her bag on her desk. “Creativity block? You've never had a problem with that before. Should I be worried that it's happened just when the theme was having a happy moment?”

You quickly nodded, trying to relieve the woman’s nerves. You weren't a sad person at all, although many people thought so because of your withdrawn behavior. You had a good life, you were a good student with a clear talent for the arts, and you had a sincere friendship in Mindy, Anika and Ethan, who had already met all the social needs you might have had.

The real issue with this project was that none of your attempts seemed right, always seeming to be missing some element or another between the memories in your brain and the movements of the brush in your hand. And yes, Ms. Crane was right about this never happening before, which was what made you the most frustrated.

The woman seemed to understand your internal dilemma and her gaze softened. “Why don't I give you another week to finish, hm? You're one of our best artists, y/n. I know you can make masterpieces when you have your head on the right place.”

And that was the reason why the woman was your favorite teacher, far beyond just being the one responsible for the art subject. Laura Crane was extremely human and compassionate towards all of her students, even those who weren't good artists or those who went to class just to admire the young teacher's beauty.

“Thank you, Ms. Crane.” You nod, feeling some of the weight on your chest being lifted. The woman waved her hand dismissively, acting as if she hadn't done anything much, even though you knew she had just done way more than any of the other old vultures who worked at the school.

You spent the rest of the day with that in your head. Your mind twisted and turned trying to find a glimmer of inspiration for your work, desperately trying to think of something that could represent your best moment of personal happiness on a 60 x 100cm canvas. The extra deadline Ms. Crane had given you made your perfectionist side feel even more intense, wanting to make a piece impressive enough to justify your lost time.

Your thoughts clouded your mind so intensely that you mechanically made your way to the history room, sitting down in your usual chair without really paying attention to your surroundings. The room, little by little, was filled up with students and, along with them, came the loud noise of chatter and chairs being dragged around. But even so, your eyes remained focused on a blank sheet of paper in front of you, while the pencil in your hand almost had to cry out for help because of the strength with which you were holding it.

You couldn’t even draw a sketch. Goddammit, what was wrong with you?!

“Can I borrow a pen?”

You snapped out of your stupor when you heard a soft voice close to your ear. Raising your head a little too quickly, you found yourself facing beautiful brown eyes and dimples on either side of a smile. Honestly, that sight scared you even more because why was Tara Carpenter, resident popular girl, talking to you at that moment?

It's not like you cared about the whole “social pyramid” and “popularity ranking” thing that mattered so much to some people at your school, but you knew that Tara and her friends didn't have the best track record with your best friend, Mindy. You didn't know the full story, but the fact that Mindy always cursed them every time the group passed by you gave you an idea that maybe they weren't such good people.

Tara noticed the confusion on your face, thinking it was due to the sudden question and not due to her presence in general, and decided to humorously complement the question. “I left all of mine at home, can you believe it?”

Not really, you were tempted to answer, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. You spent a few more seconds analyzing the girl, trying to understand why she had asked you for the pen and not the other people in the room she usually sat nearby. Tara was still patiently standing next to you, leaning slightly towards your direction, and she didn't seem to be in any rush, nor did she seem to have any bad intentions.

Overall, the only mean ones in her group of popular people were Amber and Liv, but they usually liked to be offensive directly to the faces of the students they chose as victims. The fact that Tara hung out with them was no green flag, of course, but from what little you knew of her, the girl didn't seem to be the teaser or prankster type.

With that in mind, you pulled one of the pens you used the least out of your bag and raised it towards the girl, offering it without muttering a word, wishing that the awkward (at least for you) conversation would end soon.

Unfortunately, Tara didn't seem to share the same opinion, because she pulled out the chair right next to you to sit down, dropping her black bag carelessly on the side of the table and pointing at your clothes. “Nice shirt. Team Jason or team Michael?”

The question mark in your head seemed to get even bigger with the casualness with which Tara was talking to you. You knew that the girl didn't talk to many people apart from her friends and you knew even better that they generally tried to ignore your existence along with Ethan, Anika and Mindy.

Still, horror movies were your passion and you couldn't pass up the chance to talk about one of your favorite topics with a new person.

“Well, it depends on which parameter we're using. Overall, I like the Halloween franchise better and I prefer Michael Myers’ aesthetic, but I think Jason has a better lore and he would definitely win in a fight.” You tried to keep your yapping contained, not knowing exactly how interested Tara really was in your opinion, but you were surprised to see a twinkle in the girl's eye and a mischievous smile bloom on her face.

“Michael is much faster and smarter than Jason, there's no chance of him losing in a fight.”

“Zombie Jason was literally immortal, Michael and his kitchen knife wouldn't stand a chance against him.”

The two of you continued to talk and go back and forth with each other's comments as if it was something you did every day. Being so intrigued and immersed in the topic of the conversation almost made you forget that you were talking to Tara Carpenter, with whom you had never exchanged more than three words in your life before, but both of you only stopped talking when the teacher called your attention, asking for you to be quiet so that he could start the lesson.

Tara didn't seem as shocked by the interaction as you were and, in fact, she continued to sit next to you even though her usual chair on the other side of the room was empty. She gave you a complicit wink before turning to face forward, a satisfied smile still playing on her face, as if she had been the winner from that debate.

And you? You did your best to pay attention in the rest of the class and not keep reliving the interaction in your head, trying to convince yourself that that conversation had been a glitch in the matrix and would probably never happen again, but it was hard now that you knew how nice Tara could be and after you had noticed the way her freckles seemed to dance across her face when she smiled.

_

“Earth to y/n?”

The voice of your best friend, Mindy, snapped you back to reality, making your cheeks feel warm. It was lunchtime and you, Mindy, Anika and Ethan were sitting at your usual table, which was a wooden picnic table, conveniently placed under the shade of a huge tree. A few meters away, closer to the cafeteria doors, was the circular table that was always occupied by the popular kids, surrounded by people who intruded on the group's chatter to pretend they were close to them at some level.

Usually you would never look in that direction and would instead be in a conversation with your friends about anything, but you couldn't stop thinking about the randomness of the moment you had with Tara earlier.

Your eyes turned to Mindy on the other side of the table, who frowned as she realized that you were intently watching the table of the people she hated most at school. Anika, next to her, followed your gaze and the edges of her lips fell in concern. “What? Did they do something?”

“Did they do something to you?!” Ethan asked alarmed, his body leaning towards you enough to make you uncomfortable at the invasion of your personal space. It was no secret to anyone that the boy was in love with you, especially because he had confessed it multiple times. However, no matter how many times you said you only saw him as a friend, Ethan didn't seem to move on.

“No. It's not a big deal.” You shook your head, easing your friends' concern. Still, thoughts of your conversation with Tara seemed to beg to be externalized. “Tara spoke to me in class today, out of nowhere. She saw my shirt and started asking me about which of the two was my favorite.”

“Out of the blue?” Mindy asked, still frowning, and you nodded. “Well, I know Tara has always loved horror movies. We all did.”

The meaning was left implicit, but you knew she was referring to her old group of friends before things blew up between her and Amber. Anika ran her hand over her girlfriend's arms, trying to make her feel a little better about the topic through physical contact.

The table sat quietly for a few torturous seconds until you spoke up again, breaking the silence while watching Mindy's reaction cautiously. “It was nice. I mean, she was nice to me and the conversation was interesting.”

“Careful, y/n. Talking like that, it almost sounds like someone's got a little crush.” Anika teased you, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that made you feel even more embarrassed. You looked away to the crowded table on your far right, watching the way Tara seemed to be engrossed in whatever conversation she was having.

It was confusing. You didn't think you had a crush on Tara just because you had a nice moment with her, as much as you admitted that the girl was very pretty, but it was undeniable that something about this situation had intrigued you a lot.

Next to you, Ethan scoffed aggressively, looking irritated by Anika's little joke. “Come on! Y/n would never be interested in a person like her! What does she have to offer? Stupid parties and a basic knowledge of horror movies?”

“I don't think Tara's that bad...” Anika mentioned, looking up at Mindy for some confirmation. Of all of you, Anika was the most positive and social. Sure, she didn't like Amber for obvious reasons and neither did she like Liv because “her vibes were horrible”, but she constantly tried to mediate for the twins when she visited the Meeks-Martin house and you knew she'd spoken to Tara and Wes at least once before.

Mindy, on the other hand, definitely preferred to nurture her rivalry with all of them, but she sighed, knowing that she could never be completely against her own girlfriend. “I'd rather make no comment. Just keep in mind that if Tara is Amber's right-hand woman, it's for a reason.”

As Ethan protested against the small positive words Mindy and Anika had spoken about the popular group, your attention turned back to the table, your mind still processing what had happened earlier. Had it been a one-off thing? Did Tara like the topic so much that she just had to talk to you? Would she have talked to anyone wearing the shirt or would you have been special for some reason?

Your eyes were fixed on the opposite table, but your thoughts were racing, creating a thousand and one possibilities with a creativity you wished you'd had to complete your painting. You were so lost in your own mind that you hardly noticed the rest of the world around you.

Or, at least, that was until Tara caught you staring at her.

_

“The poor girl is so into you.”

Tara looked away from you to focus on Amber, who was sitting right in front of her with her legs propped up on the table. She had her back turned to where you were at, but somehow her fox-like senses knew exactly that you were looking in that direction.

As time passed, fewer admirers surrounded the table, picking up on the implicit hint that Amber would only give them crumbs of attention for a few seconds until she started to get annoyed by the presence of the crowd of opportunistic losers. The place was now only occupied by their inner circle, but Tara still felt like there were too many people.

“I bet she almost cried when you paid attention to her.” Liv laughed evilly, sitting on Chad's lap in a position that definitely didn't look comfortable for the boy.

Tara shrugged, feeling the gaze of the whole table on her, waiting for updates on her challenge. “It was no big deal, we just talked about movies.”

The truth was that Tara had enjoyed the conversation far more than she could have anticipated. Her initial plan had been to borrow a pen and “forget” to give it back so that she would have a reason to look at your Instagram and send a message after class (which she had actually half done, as your pen was still in her bag), but your t-shirt offered an opening that fit Tara's plans like a glove.

She had missed being able to discuss horror movies outside of the internet. Amber couldn't have a full debate because her patience ran out as soon as people disagreed with her and that made her aggressive. The others in the group didn't care that much about the genre and the most Tara could talk to them about was the basics of “which of these movies is scarier.”

The last time she had actually talked about the topic in a pleasant way had been with Mindy and that had been a long time ago. Tara hadn't even realized how much she had missed it.

“Well, I don't think it'll be long before she falls for you, anyway.” Amber shrugged, looking as bored as she usually was. “Maybe I made it a little too easy for you.”

“I've asked around and I'm pretty sure that y/n has never been with anyone. That makes things more interesting, doesn't it?” Wes said, once again trying to make himself valuable to the group with his information. The platinum-haired boy looked at Amber expectantly, like a puppy eagerly waiting for a treat.

Tara couldn't help but wonder if also looked at Amber like that, even though she didn't realize it.

“Eh. It depends on how she reacts afterwards.” The dark-eyed girl threw her head back, making her chair stand on just two feet. “Can you imagine if she just chooses to ignore Tara? Bo-ring.”

The conversation kept going on that topic but Tara was suddenly distracted by the sound of her phone’s notification ring vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans. She took the device in hand, seeing on the lock screen a new message from Sam, her sister.

Sam: Hey, I'm stuck at work until later. Can’t give you a ride, sorry.

Tara huffed with annoyance, not even bothering to reply and just placing her phone back. “Amber? Can you give me a ride home after class?”

The raven-haired girl hissed and grimaced, almost managing to sound apologetic even though Tara knew she didn't actually give a damn. “Sorry, T. I'm going to buy some stuff for the party on Saturday, so I can't.”

Maybe it was for the best. Tara always felt more attracted to Amber when they drove alone in her car, either because the conversations seemed more sincere or because the Freeman girl could be extremely attractive when she drove with only one hand on the wheel. If Tara was trying to get rid of this little crush on Amber, spending hours in a car alone with her might not be the best idea.

“It’s alright. I need to walk more anyway.” Tara shrugged, pretending not to be annoyed by the situation. Taking the school bus wasn't an option, because it would take twice the time as walking, and hitching a ride with any of her other friends would be either awkward or stressful.

So, after class was over, the younger Carpenter made her way home with her bag on her back and her headphones in her ears. It had been a while since she'd had to walk home, at least since Sam had come back from rehab, but at least it gave her time to catch up on her thoughts.

It took less than 20 minutes for her to get home, throwing her bag on the sofa carelessly and turning on the TV to fill the uncomfortable silence in her house. A rerun of an SNL episode was on and Tara hoped that the sound of the audience's laughter would make her feel a little better about the shitty day she'd had.

But then again, Tara couldn't remember having a completely good day ever since Sam had come back from rehab and had forced their mother into one as well, trying to help the woman with her drinking problem.

The girl went to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water, while in the living room, the audience laughed at some of Bowen Yang's skits. She had hoped that the cold water would relieve her negative feelings but it didn't do any good, because all Tara could feel was irritation.

Yes, she was annoyed that Sam couldn't pick her up. Yes, she was angry that her life had turned upside down ever since her sister had returned. Yes, she was pissed that she wanted to vent to someone, but she knew that her best friend wouldn't give a damn about being a good listener. Yes, she was enraged about having feelings for someone she knew would only break her heart

And GOD, how angry she was with herself for going along with this idiotic plan just to get one iota of Amber's approval. Tara felt ridiculous, even more so now that she knew that you were a nice and kind person, even if you were a bit closed off.

But the girl was wracked by conflicting feelings and she just wanted them to stop. She urgently needed a distraction, be it drinks, or a movie, or...

Or Amber was right and maybe Tara really did need to have a fling with someone to relieve her tension.

She wasn't thinking straight when she reached for her phone in her back pocket again, opening it straight to the Instagram app and finding her feed full of photos of people she followed, but she didn’t waste time on them as she was a woman on a mission. Tara leaned on the kitchen worktop, both elbows propped up as she searched for your name in the search bar.

The girl huffed when she found nothing on her first search and then decided to appeal to Mindy's profile, digging through the accounts she followed to try and find any that might refer to you.

Two minutes later, Tara came across an account called “pinceaudey/n”, which had a painting portrait as the profile picture. That's got to be it, she thought, wasting no time in opening the profile which, fortunately for her, was public. More laughter was heard from the TV, but this time Tara finally felt her mood change to something more positive.

The profile didn't seem to have any photos of you, but it was full of photos of paintings and other things related to art. Tara didn't linger on any of them. The less she connected with you, the easier it would be to have a hookup and leave, which was exactly what she needed. No more complications.

Still holding her phone, Tara crossed the kitchen to walk right back to the living room, looking in her bag for the item she had “accidentally” forgotten to return. She took the opportunity to look through the curtained windows, seeing that night was beginning to fall, darkening the streets and making Tara's heart race. She hated being alone at home and hoped that Sam's shift at the antique store wouldn't take much longer.

Finally she found the pen, just as Megan Thee Stallion began her performance as the show's musical guest. Tara held the object between her fingers and took a quick photo, sending it to your DM with a text. “Hey so i accidentally stole your pen lmao.” and then, ”I promise to give it back tomorrow.”

A few seconds had passed and you still hadn't seen it. It was alright, maybe you just had some better things to do other than stare at your phone, but for some reason, Tara couldn't stop herself from biting her nails in anxiety.

Maybe it was because it was late at night and she felt lonely, or maybe it was because she was in a particularly chatty mood that day, but without a second thought, her fingers typed out another message to keep the conversation flowing.

btw who do you think would win between Freddy and Leatherface?

As she waited for a reply with a small smile on her face and music playing from her TV, Tara finally felt less alone at home.

Maybe Amber was right. Maybe she needed a distraction.