#Towe defense

[gameideas-111]

Defend the Tower idea

What if you had a 3d platform and tower defense game. Where you could place down structures and use class powers. The target is to keep your structure from being drained by a pack of creatures, with certain creatures to spice up the combat and enemy count.

Maybe there can even be a mechanic similar to Salmon Run in the platoon games. With the core game being most similar to Dungeon Defenders. Maybe you can charge the item you're guarding with the fuel of those you kill, with transporting a resource back to recharge the item you're guarding possibly being part of the game. Maybe there are some elements from Planet Engineer, like one class having conveyor belts, another a catapult, another a collector, and the last one a small collector who helps collect these resources.

Player elements: These elements would also swap out the element being used.

Fire: Makes towers use fire attacks (And by extension, having lingering damage over time from the fire), and increases player damage. While taking more damage from frost

Frost: Having the towers do frost damage (And applying the freezing effect that slows down enemies hit with it to all the players and towers' attacks) and granting the player more defense. While taking more damage from thunder.

Thunder: Chain damage and range towers (and lets the player deal thunder damage), and increases the player's speed. while taking more damage from earth.

Earth: Increases the health of all structures built by this player, and lets them heal next to any player structure. while taking more damage from fire.

Player Classes: The classes that would be in the game (This will also use their bass elements without modifications).

Worrier (Fire): Mellay based and focused on clearing things. Having three charge-up powers to choose from. The first ability charges quickly and effectively and gives you a grenade that explodes on a large area, the second option is a barrel you can through like Donky Cawn that barrels down a lain leaving a trail of elemental energy that will explode at the end of its path, the last one taking the longest to charge and acts as a massive damage boost to you. increasing your difference and damage.

their structure is a catapult that can through the items players collect somewhere else. like onto a conveyor belt or a storage bin, maybe even one of the wizard's sprites (Sprites, catapults, and could even load these things with the resource, or maybe unload it like heroes depending on the item).

Wizard (Frost): Largly floaty and seen to jump around. They have a constant attack. With you being able to choose from three major abilities. The first ability is the ability to pick from a massive elemental power shot. The next option is to cause an elemental storm that points in a cone and deals its damage. The last option is to call upon elemental birds that circle around an area and attack creatures with the lowest health, when that creature dies they move on to the next enemy, they leave at the end of a timer.

The mage can also summon a little helper to collect resources automatically in an area as long as their node isn't destroyed. They can act with anything the players can interact with. Their next special structure is a tower that lays out a small damage of your element over a large area. Others will be landmines. low cost, low expectations. it explodes and gets destroyed.

Engineer (Thunder): quick and largely focused on supporting structures. With their bass structure having the ability to boost structures around it also tends to be the second fastest class. The first option for chargeable ability is overcharge, which lets them overcharge all structures in the area, increasing their attack speed and damage to the structure. The next option lets you cause all your structures to heal other structures near them. The last option is to launch a massive rocket that deals a large amount of damage.

They can make conveyor belts, wich have a limited amount you can place. anything put on these conveyor belts will be carried along. Though, these things will destroyed.

Scout (Earth): The most agile class and often sneaking around, able to throw powers and ability to fix structures and heal allies. While also primarily being a ranged archer. Their low-cost ability lets them do an AOE healing effect, next an enhancement shot that causes an explosion-based attack. The last charge action would be an ability that heals and increases the charge of all other players around them.

The Scout can place a structure that has a storage capacity that hooks up to other player structures to create storage items to not overwhelm machines.

Enemy Modifiers

Armored: Making enemies slower, but take less damage.

Healer: Able to heal the Hp of enemies near this one.

Besurk: when an enemy hits half health, they gain double damage and can run quicker.

leading role: These creatures can initiate a charge, they can do this operatically.

Fire Touched: Takes less damage from fire, and deals fire damage. While taking more damage from frost

Thunder Touched: Takes less damage from thunder, and deals thunder damage. While taking more damage from earth

Frost Touched: takes less damage from frost, and deals frost damage. While taking more damage from Thunder.

Earth Touched: Takes less damage from Earth, and deals earth damage. while taking more damage from fire.

Enemy Ideas

Sprigin: The basic small enemy that comes in bulk and swarms quickly. Alongside having the ability to be thrown by larger enemies.

Hog Ridder sprigin: A Sprigen riding a hog as their mighty stead. They are always charging and deal more damage than other goblins. often dealing double damage to those they charge into.

Back-Packer sprigin: A small Sprigin creature who carries a backpack of explosives that when killed, explodes. But if they get to a target or an obstacle, they'll set up the explosives, scream to make all the other enemies back away from the explosives, and run away themselves becoming a regular goblin before the explosion goes off, dealing a hefty amount of damage to the structure.

Gremlin: Small magic user of minimal skill, often acting as a range unit and saboteur of towers. Frequently having skills to jump around and over places with some invisibility power.

Archer: A range unit that sicks in the back and attacks with a bow. They are primarily there to apply cover and range support for allies. If attacked up close, they do have a danger and smock bomb they can use at close range, but will often just try and find a better position.

Skeleton: A Skeleton that unless attacked in its shattered state after being attacked, will reform at half health. They can also consolidate their bones during this process to regain health, at the cost of merging.

Rough: Quick and swift. With an invisibility tactic to try and sneak up on the back line of the defenders to deal massive damage to them then run away. If they can't reach their target. They'll act as shorter-range archers that deal more damage. After three shots, they'll run away to another position.

specter: Strange beings who hover over obstacles and tackless damage from physical sources. but normal damage from magic. They also tend to lift and farry over creatures across gaps and over obstacles sometimes.

Shield Mage: A sorcerer who weald powers over frost magic, they often boost the occasionally providing cover fire over their allies and wield a shield for their own protect. With a larger health pool than your average goblin.

Sword Mage: boosting the attacks and ferocity of the other enemies around it. Alongside using the powers of fire. It also often provides a more aggressive and wielding a sword and staff to make lunge attacks and fire beverages.

Lance Mage: a mage with powers over thunder magic. They specialize in making enemies go quicker in charges, and chain damage through their spell. Welding a lance to help with this.

Staff Mage: a mage with power over Radiant magic. They increase a constant area of effect that hurts those who aren't their allies. With them also specializing in healing their allies slowly while in their damage ora.

troll: Tocken big enemy, often seen as a slugger and minny boss (They also have one hell of a throwing arm). They are powerful physical targets.

Grand Serpent: Another big enemy that acts as a mini-boss, and is long and speeds up the enemies by its long body, alongside them trying to eat smaller enemies to regain hp. They also can do quick dashes and charge quickly as an attack.

Swooper: Flying enemies who specialize in being low health high traversal areas. Able to steal resources or attack structures. possibly even sporadically carrying small enemies so that when they're shot down, they drop the enemy above where they fell. They also do swoop attacks, hence the name.

Huntsmen: A Boss who actively hunts a specific player, and puts down their own traps. mines, enemy cages, and some boost enemies. they have quick attacks and are quicker than most other bosses. All while having some of the lowest health of any boss.

Grand Mage: A powerful boss of the raid who holds a shield and a spear. Flinging one of six elements. Fire, ice, thunder, and radiant. Who specializes in throwing smaller enemies with their magic, launching long-range attacks, causing a damaging AOE, increasing speed for charges, or summoning smaller creatures. They also hover above the ground, and make it over gaps the enemy normally can't.

Dark knight: Another boss that is powerful and does double damage to structures, causes charges for all enemies, and increases their damage. With a special attack to cause other creatures to rush to his Aid and come to his position. He can even deal more damage to the one who dealt the most damage to him.

Day Screacher: A boss who can fly and chuck small and medium creatures around while flying around and frequently swooping around them. With screech ability for range abilities, and a chance to dodge attacks before making a swoop.

[dykedvonte]

I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

[m4rs-ex3]

it kinda just clicked for me that archdragons have their name name and then the title they receive(?) as an archdragon, ie "anak araw" -> "sol regem", which is really cool but like *shakes by the shoulders* WHERE ARE ZUBEIA AND AVIZANDUM'S!!! WHERE ARE THEY!!!!!!

[petrichormore]

God q!BBH is fascinating. His paranoia especially. q!Bad has called himself paranoid in character btw. multiple times. but the one example that immediately comes to mind is when he was talking to q!Aypierre. When people call him paranoid he doesn’t really say “Nuh uh” (at least not seriously - he’s become a little more self-aware) he says “okay maybe I am, maybe I’m not. but don’t you understand why?”

for q!BBH the price of potentially overreacting and hurting his friends’ feelings with his lack of trust is significantly outweighed by the price of an egg fucking dying because he decided to relax. He has been the deciding factor in a life-or-death situation for an egg multiple times. And his overreactions have saved lives. Obviously his developing belief that he’s like the Lone Responsible Caretaker of the Eggs is like blatantly incorrect but it didn’t come into existence in a void. It isn’t just one of his inventions it’s a consequence of other parents putting (whether purposely or accidentally) a lot of pressure on him that he tried and failed to escape from.

So he doesn’t care if he’s paranoid, he doesn’t care if his distrust hurts people, he doesn’t care about what’s reasonable or not - he cares about the eggs being alive. And if being unreasonable has kept the eggs alive in the past then damn you better believe he’s only going to get more unreasonable. And he’s not going to be sorry about it either, not while he feels responsible for every single child on the island.

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

Destroyed Russian Ural-4320 military truck and 122mm 2A18 D-30 towed howitzer, Luhansk region, Ukraine, August 5, 2023. Source: Naalsio26

P.S. By the 533rd day of the war, the Russian army has lost 5028 (+15 during the last day) cannons in Ukraine. Yes, they are cheap, and in most cases obsolete, but along with the destroyed guns are killed their their crews, destroyed trucks, ammunition stores and counterbattery radars...

[true-blue-sonic]

I think worse than Silver finding it hard to catch his dozen of friends in free fall is Silver not getting the emerald from Zor easy and justifying by saying the "I can't be this accurate" bullshit

Oh right, he can't be that accurate, it's not like it was any easier than grabbing wreckage from everywhere around while flying in super speeds to keep up with Sonic, it's not like it was any easier than keep the same speed as Sonic, hold wreckage above him and then slam the wreckage like giant hammers in attempt to hit Sonic. He can't hold Zor in place either because a zeti is far stronger than what our uwu cinamon roll boy 🥺 can hold

Sorry by the "fans don't look" moment hehe

To be quite honest, I truly have no idea what to make of Silver's power level in IDW anymore... except the fact that he's 100% just a lot weaker than in the games and Sonic Channel😅 And I do also feel that even within IDW itself, he's simply not consistent in how strong he is. Though, I would say that links back more to the fact the plot is driving what is happening, and not the characters themselves. Silver obviously could not get eaten alive by the Giant Chopper, so he is able to defeat it after a bit of a struggle while looking none the worse for wear in the aftermath. But holding like five gardening tools simultaneously or catching Duo when he falls down one meter is too much, because it needs to be too much to continue on with the things that come afterwards (him falling to the ground so Blaze can help him up in a Cute Moment; everybody believing he terribly hurt Duo so nobody would see through Mimic's deceit despite the much more severe fight that had happened between Whisper and Lanolin one room over that everybody just... stood around for). So... yeah. Power level as the plot demands it, I guess? I'm always glad to see Silver do the far more powerful things that we know he is very well capable of in the games and Sonic Channel. Ranging from casually catching a giant meteor and throwing it back at basically a god without breaking a sweat, to his entire boss battle in Generations, to him telekinetically holding up a bridge that is noted to weigh multiple tons, to him stopping the beam of the Eclipse Canon that was about to level an entire city with his shield of light: Silver is very, very powerful, to a frightening extent.

[techdriveplay]

How to Tow a Trailer Safely

Towing a trailer can be an essential skill, whether you’re transporting a boat for a weekend getaway, moving furniture across town, or embarking on a cross-country road trip with a camper. However, it’s not as simple as hitching the trailer and hitting the road. Understanding how to tow a trailer safely is crucial for protecting not only your cargo but also yourself, your passengers, and everyone…

[pucksandpower]

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

[siriuslylantsov]

drunken confessions

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: you take care of a drunk spencer and inebriated, he happens to let certain things slip.

tags: fluff! alcohol consumption (on spencers part so a little ooc), jealous spencer, confession? sorta, dilaudid briefly mentioned, r and spencer sleep in the same bed.

a/n: idk how much i like this, i had this done and dusted months ago but i hated it and left it in my google docs... anw lmk what you think, happy reading!

wc: 1.9k

spencer reid doesn’t drink, or at least he limits himself to two glasses of wine or a beer. the numbing effect alcohol provides faintly reminds him of dilaudid, and that’s enough to keep him from indulging when he goes out for drinks with the team.

instead, he often plays designated driver, guiding an intoxicated penelope or derek to the passenger seat before taking the wheel himself. he doesn’t mind this role; while he isn’t fond of driving, he enjoys taking care of people, regardless of whether they remember to thank him later. plus, it gives him some incredible blackmail photos of derek passed out—ammunition, for whenever he needs it.

tonight is different though, the team is out for drinks, but you’re with him. scott, jerk, bitch boy, butt face–whatever his name is. you had declined, you never decline, saying that you and scott had plans. and in a desperate attempt to not think about you, he gave in. 

what's in his cup, he's not entirely sure off. penelope had handed it to him earlier, elated that he was joining them, and that he won't taste the alcohol. he stares at the blue fizzy drink in the cup, and although he likes how sweet it is, he could say with certainty that the taste was distinguishable. 

a hand slaps him on the back, “that's gonna give you the worst hangover, pretty boy,” derek says, arm now across spencer’s shoulders. “why’d you let penelope get you that?”

“because,” she interjects out of nowhere at the mention of her name, her own colourful drink in tow, “he doesn't like bitter.” she waves her hand dismissively, “now, leave him alone and go drink your scotch” she says, her face twisted in distaste. 

the two of them waddle off together, leaving spencer victim to his damn thoughts. what are you doing with scott? you should be with your friends instead. this is a time to unload and relax together, not be away with your ratty boyfriend. maybe if he could convince hotch to make these outings essential to team building, you’d be less likely to cancel-

no.

he is not doing this. he needs to not think.

he takes a long sip from his drink, swallowing fast so the taste doesn't linger. he works on it like this, long and fast, until he moves on to his second and third. it doesn't take long for him to get drunk, tolerance being next to nothing. 

-

the bar is dim and loud when you walk in, greeted with a whiff of something too strong when a stranger walks past you. you scan the place, looking for familiar faces. your fingers twitch nervously by your leg, you're not supposed to be here, or atleast thats what you told them. but you couldn't stand the eerie silence of your apartment any longer. your eyes screech to a halt when you spot the back of a head of curls you know oh so well. 

-

“hey.”

you slide into the booth beside him, and he freezes. where did you come from? 

“hi,” he says curtly. suddenly overly aware of himself, he straightens.

“what are you…” you trail off, eyebrows creased in amusement. he's so frigid, almost guilty. your breath catches and you lean in, nostrils flaring slightly, is that gin? you peer at him, confused. “have you been drinking?”

as if on instinct, spencer drags his drink further away from you on the table. your eyes dart down to the half-filled glass you had previously thought was a mocktail, and snap back to his.

“wait, really? you're drinking?” your tone a mix of surprise and concern.

“so what? i can drink, i’m allowed to drink,” he retorts, defensiveness bubbling up. 

taken aback, you look down for a moment, then meet his gaze again, seeing the apology in his eyes. “it's okay. you can do whatever you want. so… how are you feeling?”

a lazy smile creeps up as he leans his head back against the wall, “drunk.”

you chuckle, “it tends to work that way.” you pause, scrutinising him before repeating your question. “how are you feeling?”

your emphasis on the word eats at him, he knows you know why he doesn't drink. you'd been on the team only a year and a half, yet you knew him better than anyone. he concedes, incapable of not giving you what you want.

“good, fine, okay. i'm okay, i’m… okay,” he stammers, as if convincing himself along with you.

a quick flash of apprehension passes through your face, eyebrows momentarily creasing, “yeah?”

“yeah.” 

it's quiet for a minute, as quiet as it can get in a bar blasting 90s hip-hop. you're leaned against the heel of your hand, elbow to the table and body angled his way. he’s fidgeting with his fingers on his lap. you're trying to figure out what's different about tonight, itching to ask him but you don't. he’ll tell you, you hope. letting out a sigh, you cease your analysing.

before he can stop it, he starts speaking again, “so where's scott?” he drags out the ‘t’ sound at the end, words slurring together. 

you briefly tense, but he doesn't notice, circumstances rendering spencer’s profiling abilities inept. “um, he's home.” no he's not.

“didn't you guys have plans?”

“yeah,” you respond shortly.

“so why are you here?”

“plans ended early. i wanted to stop by.”

you hope your answers are enough for spencer, enough to stop the interrogation. you didn't want to tell him that you and scott had broken up, 2 weeks ago. by the way spencer’s attentions drifts to a piece of lint on your shoulder, you conclude that he's content. 

“are you not getting anything?” he asks, referring to your lack of a drink.

“nope, pulling a spencer tonight,” you chirp, he smiles. “want me to take you home? i brought my car.”

your face warms as he nods eagerly, taking a sip from his abandoned cup. you tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, determined to make sure he gets taken care of, and exhale slowly. your eyes glint mischievously, “okay, talk to me, pretty boy. i wanna see how much more unfiltered you get when you're drunk.”

-

the night goes on, you and spencer holed up in the corner, deep in conversation though it's more giggly than normal, very giggly. your teammates pass by the table now and then but get pulled back to the excitement eventually. spencer's expressive hands become languid, aimlessly waving around in the air as he rambles on about whatever comes to mind; the fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio, nautilus shells, speaking of shells, one time a hermit crab pinched me when i picked it up. the fact itself isn't funny but the way he raises both hands to imitate claws is and you start laughing again, and he realises he wants to make you laugh like that for the rest of his life. 

your eyes drift to the clock on the opposite wall, it's something past midnight though it's too far away to tell. you decide to call it. 

“c’mon, let's go.”

“but-” he protests.

“spencer,” you press, softly, “it's late, i wanna take you home.”

he puts up no further protests as he lets you drag him out of the bar, hands laced together, can he even complain when your hand feels like it does in his. you say goodbye to everyone as you leave, penelope pulling you in for a tight hug. the drive to spencer's apartment is fairly silent, the sleepiness taking over. he leans his head against the window, watching the streetlights, you steal a glance at him, smiling to yourself. 

you walk spencer upstairs, reaching your destination. you wait in his living room as he changes into his pyjamas, a matching dark blue set, and tucking him into bed when he's done. you brush a piece of hair away from his face again, his eyes are barely open. pleased with the state he’s in, you feel ready to leave. you begin to walk away when you feel his hand weakly grab onto your pinkie. 

“stay,” he whispers, more a breath than anything, he's afraid you don't hear it.

you don't. “what, baby?”

baby. he repeats himself, louder. “stay.”

“i gotta go home.”

“i want you to stay, it's not fair that he gets to have you all the time,” he slurs, the drowsiness makes him sound a little petulant but you find it endearing. 

“spence-” you lightly tug your finger from his grasp, though it would be easy to pull away, he's hardly holding on.

“no,” he retorts, firmly. “it’s late, you're not driving back this late.”

you contemplate for a moment before letting out a sigh, cementing your place for the night. he lets go and you walk over to his dresser, looking for something to wear. finally, you settle on a t- shirt that seems too big to be owned by him and a pair of shorts with drawstrings that you can adjust to fit you. you change in the adjoined bathroom, the getup has you smelling like him. 

“i hope you don't mind, i took your clothes,” you say, slipping under the covers after turning off the lights. you lay on your back, looking up at the ceiling.

spencer only hums in response as he turns to face you, legs curled up. he feels unbearably close but you know there's a good 2 feet between you two. you listen closely to his breathing, a slow inhale and an even slower exhale, you find yourself trying to sync your breaths with him. you think he’s sleeping, only you're proven wrong when he quietly says your name.

you take this as your sign to turn on your side too, facing him. “yeah?” you respond, maintaining the quiet.

“how come you can stay like this?”

“cause you asked me to.”

“i know i did but you have someone waiting for you at home.”

he waits expectantly, though it wasn't phrased as a question, it felt like one. why didn't you go home?

“we broke up,” you answer, meekly. “a few weeks ago.”

he immediately dreads his curiosity, opening his mouth to apologise but you stop him, “it's ok, i’m fine.”

his eyes search for yours in the darkness. he can’t find them. he settles for holding your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you squeeze back. 

you're wrapped in silence for the umpteenth time that night, a comfortable weight that settles over you. there's something so impossibly easy being with spencer. the mattress dips as he scoots closer, knees brushing against yours. your thumb glides over his knuckles in slow passes.

“go to sleep,” you say softly, almost a coo. “i'll be here in the morning.”

spencer lets his eyes fall at your reassurance. the haziness drowns out any instinctual hesitation, maybe there's lingering alcohol too, which is why he feels compelled to say it.

“i love you,” he murmurs, a barely there whisper that hangs in the air around you. the words tug at your heartstrings, you feel a little pained by his drunken admission. you know it's anything but platonic when he says it, because he's not one to say it often. you’re silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. does he mean it?

“tell me again when you wake up,” you respond, though you're not sure whether he heard it before he dozed off.

you'll just have to wait.

part 2

reblogs and replies are appreciated! | m.list

[mariasont]

They Think I'm Pregnant - A.H

a/n: i feel like this is kind of shitty but alas here we are!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: the team thinks you're pregnant and you decide to have a little fun with it

warnings: reader is not preggers promise!, honestly the team gossiping is so lol, suggestive content per usual

wc: 1.3k

"I mean she has been kind of moody lately."

The gasp that rose in your surprise was quickly smothered as you pressed yourself against the wall, pushing into it as if that would make you invisible somehow.

"Well, interestingly enough, there has been considerable growth in her chest area. It's due to elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone, which I've noticed with her." Spencer stopped abruptly, the sound of Morgan's muffled laughter in the background. "I'm not saying I make a habit of such observations. Okay, um, don't tell Hotch I said that."

Casting a skeptical eye down your shirt, your frown deepened. Sure, your boobs had grown, but that was a testament to a little happy relationship weight, not the fodder of their theories. 

"Nice one, kid," came Rossi's voice, and you could almost see the smirk on his face.

"Oh my gosh, guys, this is like, the best news ever! A mini-agent in the making! Can you imagine how cute she's going to be? I'm going to get her the cutest  outfits!"

"Garcia, how do you know it's going to be a girl? Did the baby send you a text?"

The baby? Was rational thought absent among them? It must be. You crossed your arms defensively.

"Okay, maybe we should pump the breaks everyone. Why do we even think she's pregnant in the first place?"

JJ—your voice of reason. You could kiss the ground she walked on.

"I'm just putting two and two together. She walked out, and there was a pregnancy test in the trash that wasn't there before."

Your eyebrows drew down, and the increasing shuffle from the room prompted you to make a beeline for Hotch's office before anyone saw you snooping. But in your defense, Emily snooped first.

The moment the door clicked shut, you lunged for the blinds, bypassing any attempt at a greeting with Aaron. The blinds clattered shut, so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"Honey, what are you—?"

His words hung unfinished as you whirled around, pressing your pointer finger to your lips as if he were a kindergartner about to walk down the hall.

"They think I'm pregnant!" you hissed indignantly, jabbing a finger toward the door as if it were a portal to the rumor mill itself.

His face drained of color as his eyes darted from your face, down to your stomach, and finally rested on your tits. "Are you?"

You slapped his shoulder. "No!"

"Then why do they think that?"

You recounted every piece of evidence  they had collected, giving special attention to Spencer's bodily hypothesis as a subtle form of retaliation.

"He said what?"

You laughed, draping your arms around his neck as you made yourself at home on his lap. He leaned back in his chair, arranging you so your legs were stretched out across his lap.

"Focus," you said desperately. "They think I'm pregnant."

"Sweetheart," he chuckled, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Does it really matter what they're assuming?"

Your lower lip jutted out, fingers threading through your hair as you mulled it over.

"You're a genius." Your arms were around him in an instant once again, leaving a big, messy kiss on his cheek as you hopped down from his lap and strode towards the door.

Who cares if that's what they think?

So, you devoted your day to your greatest talent: stirring the pot. If they were set on believing you were pregnant, why should you interfere? Better yet, why not enjoy their theories and have some fun along the way?

You pulled every trick in the book.

In the morning, you bolted from the briefing room with a hand clamped over your mouth, you later reappeared, ginger ale and crackers in tow--which you knew JJ would understand. No one said a word.

In the afternoon, you turned up your nose when Emily offered you coffee, which in turn caused her eyes to bulge out of her head, but still she said nothing.

In the evening, you staged a sudden craving for the strangest of snacks, convincing Spencer of your dire need for pickles dipped in peanut butter. You sent him on a wild goose chase for it, and he did it, no questions asked.

All of these, as some would say--childish antics, lead to a big pile of nothing because no one was brave enough to just ask you.

So now that you were all gathered around Rossi's living room, with the day's efforts in vain, you were forced to drastic measures. 

The wine glass was mere inches from your lips when the whole lot of them were up in arms--a blabbering, spiraling mess.

Garcia, her mouth a perfect 'o' of scandalized red, was quick to wrestle it from your grasp, hoisting it just beyond reach as Morgan promptly confiscated it, placing it atop the tallest bookshelf, as if you were a child meddling with contraband.

"What are you thinking?"

"Are you crazy?"

"What are you doing?"

"Hotch, do you see this?"

Their words bombarded you all at once, a rapid-fire of overlapping sentences that was impossible to decipher. A giggle escaped you, hand instinctively rising to your lips. Sure, you had braced for a reaction, but this was beyond anything you had imagined.

You played dumb, your head canting to one side as your brows contracted. "What?"

You basked in Aaron's exasperated eye roll, his hands coming together as if in prayer while he let you revel in the moment. He was a good man.

"What do you mean what? I love you so much, but you have to be out of your mind," Garcia probed, her hands clutching on to her necklace as she looked side to side at the others.

You opened your mouth, ready to provoke her further, but Spencer beat you to it.

"Given the potential impact on blood volume and plasma osmolality, it's really not advised to drink alcohol, considering your condition," he said, fidgeting with his tie while nodding to your belly.

"What condition?"

"Oh, come on! We found your pregnancy test in the trash today!" This time it was Emily speaking, her hands on her hips as she gave you a knowing glance. She quickly muffled her exclamation. "Hold on, you've told Hotch, right? If not, I'm prepared to get on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness if necessary."

"You all are ridiculous!" you declared, rising from the couch and moving toward your abandoned wine. Aaron was quicker, offering the glass to you. "I'm not pregnant, and if you nosy nellies had bothered to ask rather than speculate, you'd know that.”

You took a large gulp of your wine. For emphasis. Your colleagues' mouth hung agape, all but Rossi, who smirked and toasted to the absurdity with his whiskey.

"You heard us?"

"Reid, let's just say, I'd appreciate if you would reserve those observational talents for the case files, not on my girlfriend's anatomy," Hotch suggested, the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric at your back as he casually sipped his scotch.

You watched Reid's complexion turn a spectrum of pink hues, his apology barely above a whisper as laughter bubbled around us. 

"Wait so then whose pregnancy test did I find?" Emily's words caused a collective breath to catch, glances shifting suspiciously around the room.

JJ's hand shot up, laughing as Garcia barreled into her side, arms wrapping around her before she could even get the admittance out. The room buzzed with congratulatory cheers, everyone sharing hugs and kisses as JJ told the story.

Aaron chose that instant to lift his hand to his neck, his lips meeting yours in a kiss so gentle it turned your insides to jelly. He eased back, his breath mingling with yours as he mumbled, "you know, the idea of you pregnant...it's not something I'm opposed to."

You let out a soft giggle, nestling your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart bleeding into your ear. Your gaze drifted to your friends, toasting with raised glasses--minus JJ--with laughter and chatter filling the air.

"Is that so? Cravings, mood, boobs and all?"

You felt the rumble of his chuckle through his chest, the sensation tingling against your cheek. "All of it."

Rising onto your toes, you reached up to cradle his ear, lips grazing lightly against it. "How about we head home and practice? And then if you put a ring on it, I’ll consider it.”

That was the first time you had Irish goodbye-d a party.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The School is Calling

You got a call about your kid(s) fighting at school ... this can't be good .... or is it? [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

Principal: Your child got into a fight during lunch

MC: who started the fight?

Principal: That's not important the important thing is your daughter brutally beat up another child

Zayne: What was the fight about?

Principal: Another child took her fruit cup

MC: Is this the same kid who put slime in her hair two days ago?

Principal: Yes but-

Zayne: Is this the same kid who's been taking her notebooks for the last two weeks

Principal: well you see-

Zayne: This sounds like a case of bullying and it seems as though you and your staff have done little to discipline a student who has been bullying our daughter

Principal: I assure you we have a strict no bullying poli-

Zayne: It's not strict enough.

The principals lips snap shut.

Zayne: Now violence is not the answer, but this sounds like a case of self-defense you along with your staff need to handle the bullying problem you have in this school

Principal: ....

Zayne: Are we done here?

Principal: Yes we're done here sir sorry to bother you two

MC: Don't be sorry be better

Rafayel

Principal: Your children got into a fight during recess

Rafayel: Damn *turns to his kids* did you two win?

Your children rapidly nod with big smiles on their faces.

Rafayel: Hell yea! up top!

Principal: Sir this is not a good thing

Rafayel: Did they start it?

Principal: Well no

Rafayel: So they finished it?

Principal: Sir

Rafayel: Good talk ... tell your students to leave my kids alone now if we're done here im taking them to get ice cream

Rafayel walks outside with the twins in tow and finds you leaning against the hood of the car.

MC: So?

Rafayel: They didn't start it they finished it and they won

MC: That's what I like to hear ... Ice cream?

Rafayel & the twins: ICE CREAM !

Xavier

Principal: Your child got into a fight during P.E.

MC: Who started it?

Principal: That's not important here

Xavier: Answer the question.

Principal: ........The other kid shoved your child into the wall

Xavier: Which explains the bruise on his elbow

Principal: Your child then proceeded to punch the other kid in the mouth knocking his tooth out

Xavier: Sounds like self defense

Principal: Your son busted that kids lip sir

MC: Maybe that kid should've kept his hands off our son

Principal: We can't have your son fighting it goes against everything we stand for

Xavier: My son has told you and your staff multiple times this kid was being mean to him and you've done nothing

Principal: We've done everything we can

Xavier: No you haven't you let it slide until he stood up for himself and showed that kid that his actions have consequences we're done here

Sylus

MC: I just got a call from the school, but I won't be able to make it up there in time Sylus: I'll go I'm not busy MC: Okay let me know how it goes

Principal: Im sorry to inform you that we're going to have to suspend your daughter

Sylus: Why.

Principal: She tied up a student and stuffed him in a locker

Sylus: Why.

Principal:*mumbling* He .... He ripped one of her braids out

Sylus: Speak up.

Principal: Another student pulled her hair and removed a braid by accident

Sylus: If I do recall my daughter has reported this kid pulling her hair multiple times

Principal: Yes but we can't have her fighting

Sylus: She didn't fight .... she overpowered him and showed their difference in strength

Principal: but-

Sylus: You're lucky she doesn't like picking on the weak ... don't bother me or her mother with these trivial matters again ... lets go little dove

MC: How did it go? Sylus: Just a friendly chat nothing serious MC: What did she do? Sylus: Made me proud

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for your fight scenes (pt. 2)

Arrive

admission, alight, appearance, arrival, billow, butt in, come in, cross, disembark, embark, enter, foray, get back, get on, go ahead, immigrate, influx, intrude, invasion, lance, light, lunge, penetrate, pierce, progress, reach, return, stalk, trespass, turn up

Illegal behavior

assault, backstab, bleed, break, bribe, buy, conspire, contravene, delinquency, disobey, extortion, felony, foul, graft, hara-kiri, holdup, imposture, infringe, intrigue, kickback, larceny, loot, misconduct, misdeed/misdemeanor, offense, pick, piracy, poach, rip off, rip-off, robbery, shenanigans, smear campaign, speculation, stick up, take, theft, treason, victimize, violation

Join physically

link, merge, mingle, piece, splice, tuck, unite, weld, yoke

Jump

bounce, clear, dive, gallop, hop, lunge, plunge, rear, recoil, skip, start, vault

Leave

abandon, back, blow, bolt, break, break out, cringe, dart, depart, desert, deviate, digress, disappearance, distance, draw back, ebb, embark, exit, fall back, flee, fly, get along, get out, goodbye, go out, jilt, light out, maroon, parting, push off/push on, quit, recoil, renunciation, resign, retire, run, scram, segregation, shake off, shrink, strike out, takeoff, threads, trousers, vacate, withdrawal

Prepare physically

acclimate, accustom, braid, brush up, bundle, coat, disguise, domesticate, dress, embattle, fine-tune, fix up, fortify, gear, gild, gloss, grease, habituate, knit, make up, modulate, overhaul, pad, plaster, polish, prepare, preserve, primp, reform, refrigerate, regenerate, rejuvenate, renovate, round, set, shine, smear, square, strain, toughen, training, weather

Pull

drag, extract, lug, pluck, schlep, strain, tow, twist, wrench, yank

Push

advance, back, barge in/barge into, billow, blow up, bulge, burst, compress, crowd, crush, depress, drive, extrude, force, indent, insinuate, jam, jolt, knead, mash, mob, notch, poke, prod, protrude, pump, repel, roll, shove, slam, squish, tax, tip, trample, wrestle, wring

Weapon

A-bomb, armament(s), arrow, atom bomb, battery, bullet, catapult, defense, explosive, firearm, gun, missile, nuclear weapon, ordnance, rocket

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ part 1 Writing Notes: Fight Scenes ⚜ Word Lists: Fight ⚜ Pain

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

When Roles Collide

Word count: 941

Pairing: max Verstappen x reader, ft. kelly and P

Summary: After expressing concern that Kelly relies too much on Max to care for her daughter, Y/n faces Kelly's anger.

______________________________________________________________

Kelly arrived at the apartment with P in tow, the little girl bounding into Max’s arms as soon as the door opened. You watched as Max smiled, scooping her up effortlessly, his affection for her always evident. But today, you felt a growing sense of frustration. This was the third time this week that Kelly had dropped her off with barely any notice, and as much as you loved P, something about this situation wasn’t right.

Once Max and P had gone off to play, you approached Kelly, who was halfway out the door. You could feel the words building inside of you, and you knew you had to say something before it continued.

"Kelly, can I talk to you for a second?" you asked, your voice calm but firm.

She paused, hand on the door, clearly not expecting this. "Sure, what’s up?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your tone even. "Look, I love having P around, and Max is always happy to see her. But I feel like lately, you’ve been relying on him a lot. She’s your daughter, and she needs time with you too. Max can't always be the one stepping in."

Kelly’s expression shifted instantly, her casual demeanor hardening into something defensive. "Excuse me?" she said sharply, her brows knitting together. "I’ve been busy, and P loves spending time with Max. Why do you care all of a sudden?"

You swallowed, taken aback by the sharpness of her response. "It’s not that I care 'all of a sudden.' I just think it’s important that P spends time with you, her mom. Max loves her, but you’re—"

Before you could finish, Kelly cut you off. "You’ve only been in Max’s life for, what, six months? And now you think you get to delegate how I raise my daughter?"

Her words hit like a slap, and you felt your chest tighten. "I’m not trying to delegate anything," you said, keeping your voice steady, though your heart was racing. "I’m just saying that it feels like Max is being put in a position where he’s—"

"Where he’s what? Being a father figure to the daughter he’s helped raise for years?" Kelly’s voice was growing louder, her anger bubbling over. "You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s been like for me and P. Max has always been there for her, and now you just waltz in and decide you know what’s best?"

The frustration you’d been holding back for so long surged forward. "That’s not what I’m saying, Kelly! I get that Max has been there, and I love that about him. But I’m not trying to replace you or act like I know what’s best. I just think P needs her mom more than you realize."

Kelly crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "You think you know better than me, huh? After just half a year with Max, now you’re an expert?"

You shook your head, trying to remain calm even though the tension was thickening by the second. "I’m not trying to tell you how to be a mom, Kelly. I just think that you’re depending on Max a little too much, and it’s not fair to him either."

Kelly scoffed, her eyes flashing with irritation. "What’s not fair is you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Max and I have been handling this just fine before you came along."

Max, who must have overheard the raised voices, appeared in the doorway, his eyes darting between you and Kelly. "What’s going on?" he asked, his tone cautious but concerned.

Kelly didn’t hesitate. "Your girlfriend here thinks she knows better about how I should be raising P. Apparently, I’m not doing enough because I let her spend time with you."

Max’s eyes widened, and he glanced at you, clearly surprised. "That’s not what she’s saying, Kelly," he said softly, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think she’s just concerned, that’s all."

"Concerned," Kelly repeated bitterly. "How considerate of her. Well, news flash—this is my daughter we’re talking about, and Max, you’ve been like a second father to her for years. You don’t need anyone else telling you what’s best for her."

The anger in her voice was palpable, and you could see the hurt flashing in Max’s eyes as he tried to mediate. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you weren’t trying to come between anyone, but the words were stuck in your throat.

"I think it’s best if we just take a step back for now," Kelly said, turning toward the door. "I don’t need anyone questioning how I handle my daughter. I’ll figure it out on my own."

Before you could respond, she was gone, leaving the tension lingering in the room. Max let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you, unsure of what to say.

You felt a pang of guilt but also the undeniable weight of your frustration. "I wasn’t trying to upset her," you said quietly.

Max nodded, stepping closer. "I know. You’re just looking out for P and for us… but this is complicated." He hesitated, his eyes searching yours. "Kelly’s always been protective, especially when it comes to P. I think she feels like she’s losing control."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just want what’s best for everyone."

Max pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I know. And I appreciate you trying to help. We’ll figure this out. Together."

But as you leaned into him, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

[777heavengirl]

Leave

poa!remus lupin x healer!reader one-shot ! warnings: angst ? mentions of war and death, eventual fluff word count: 4,014 masterlist

Remus Lupin was a handsome man. You had always known this, ever since fifth year when you got paired up with him in potions. It became your new favorite subject. He was not only gorgeous but bright and sharp as a whip. You could hear his sarcastic and witty comments from under his breath often, and the giggles that bubbled out of you were hard to contain. You had considered yourself decent friends, sharing more than one class with him and opting often to work together throughout your time at Hogwarts. He was even the reason you were a part of the order of the phoenix as the war broke out. 

It was a dark time, the insecurity and the panic. The sheer paranoia that draped over everyone like a coat made of lead. You lost contact as the war ended. His best friends were dead, or traitors. His family was dead and as far as you knew he retreated until the only mention of him was the pictures on your walls. You hadn’t laid eyes on the man for twelve years. 

But Remus Lupin was still a handsome man. Older barely, tired definitely. As Dumbledore introduced him as the new defense against the dark arts professor you couldn’t help but gawk. His shy smile was the same, a small curl of his lip as he looked sheepishly at the crowd of children. His light brown hair was longer than the last time you had seen him. He shaved it the year Harry was born, you always thought he looked quite good with the buzz. Matter of fact he had asked you to shave it for him. You’d never forget the trust he had in you at that moment, nor the feel of his head, his face in your hands. 

You had started your post as a secondary healer at Hogwarts around the same time Harry Potter turned 11. Albus insisted Madame Pomfrey needed the help, and as a trusted witch and now experienced and skilled healer after many years at St Mungo’s, you were the one for the job. After much bonding with the Potter boy, as he had the terrible habit of always needing medical care along with his friends you started to tell him, stories of his mother, of his father, and your time together at school. You suspected Albus Dumbledore was playing a game of chess. Remus’s appearance was no different. Maybe he was trying to introduce the boy to his parent’s old friends. Show him the love and care his parents had fostered with others. The way James and Lily cared for their friends like family, until their last seconds.

Lily Evans had been, until the day of her death, one of your closest friends. The two of you were basically inseparable, she always said muggle-borns needed to stick together. This closeness is what made your friendship with Remus so easy. It was like two overlapping circles of friends perfectly lining up, creating one. This also made it easy to fall in love with him. Lily always encouraged it, you could still hear the smile on her face as she spoke warmly about the man, how perfect he was for you.

Lily loved Remus. You suspected this was also the reason for his absence. Everyone deals with grief differently.

Or maybe he just really had no care for you after all?

You shook the thought away as you did your nightly duties. It was nearing the end of the first week of classes and you hadn’t dared talk to Remus. You were trying to come to terms with the undeniable fact that maybe it was best that you didn’t reconnect. He could teach from his classroom on his side of the castle and you could heal children from yours. Not in a bad way, but maybe in the way two people avoid each other because of too much shared pain. Because maybe looking at each other meant acknowledging how alone you were. It’s not like he had even looked at you either. You wondered if he thought of you. 

You thought of Lily as you cleaned. She’d huff at you if she heard your thoughts. 

“Ah yes Ms Y/L/N,” Dumbledore walked in, Remus in tow. The soft brown, wool sweater he wore made your heart clench. He looked like he always did, he looked like the Remus you grew up with. Not the stuffier professor robes you had seen him wearing around. “I do believe you are familiar with Professor Lupin’s-”

”predicament” Remus muttered but in the silence of the night it was clear as day. 

”ah yes, ever so verbose, the professor, but you are aware yes?” 

Of course, you knew, you had helped him post-full moon before while you were training to be a healer. While the war felt like it would blow down your doors at any minute. you simply nodded. You resumed your task of folding the sheets, opting to do it with your hands.

You were afraid to look at him, but you knew what Dumbledore would ask.

”I trust you can make sure he’s in good shape each month then?”

You smiled softly at the headmaster, “of course sir, i’ll tend to him when needed” Dumbledore smiled and nodded as he turned, patting Remus’s shoulder as he passed and disappeared into the castle's darkness.

You could feel Remus tense up as you were left alone, you felt suffocated even in the expansiveness of the hospital wing. 

“I have all the moon dates in my calendar professor,” the words felt foreign coming from your mouth but you couldn’t bring yourself to say his name. “so please don’t hesitate to tell me what arrangement you’d prefer I can go up to your room the morning after or if you feel like coming down as well”

Remus shifted on his feet as you spoke. He stared hard at the windows but he suspected you were also avoiding his gaze. 

“I think I can make it up here, don’t worry I’ll probably be okay,” You hummed, shooting him a tightlipped smile as he bowed his head and left. Your eyes never met. 

Remus felt like he might suffocate at any moment. His skin felt hot under his collar and he couldn’t remember if he had looked at you at all. He tried to picture your face. Had it aged at all? Had you changed? He could only think back to when you buzzed his head thirteen years ago. Your wide smile as the two of you laughed at his falling locks. It had been cathartic at the time, and he could still feel the ghost of your fingers over his face, over his head.

It was a fleeting thought, a flash of a life he had forgotten he had lived. Twelve years is an awfully long time, to not see someone.

He wondered how you had dealt with all of it. With the losses, with the absence of everyone you loved. He could feel regret worm its way into his heart. He had left you alone. You were each other's remaining friends. There was no longer anyone else, Lily and James, Marlene, and Dorcas were all dead. He presumed Mary was dead as well. Frank and Alice weren’t there anymore, not mentally.

He knew you took care of them. At St Mungo’s. He caught a glimpse of you once as you came into their room. Remus had just gone to visit, talk to them, and bring them flowers. Even if they didn’t seem to recognize him, Alice was entranced by the Lillies he brought. He felt content enough about it as he walked away, but then you walked into the room after. He knew you hadn't seen him, but he peeked in to observe you. With your nice smile and your caring gaze, you checked up on them, made sure they had been fed, ran through a small (although futile) therapeutic exercise with them, and put on a charm so the flowers wouldn’t wilt, so they make you happy for a long time Alice. Remus hated the pang of pain in his heart. He always knew you would become a good healer. He didn’t want to disrupt your life. You seemed well-adjusted. Or at least he hoped you were, but that was just the outside, and the outside doesn’t always reflect the inside.

Remus knew this especially well.  

-

This arrangement between you was barely touched on. Remus had come in only once in the two months that had passed for a small scrape on his neck. It made your fingers itch in anticipation. It was like you needed to feel needed. You knew he wasn't having the best time. He looked pale and ill and you fought the urge to drop something off at his door. 

"Severus I need to know if you're giving him Wolfsbane" You disliked dealing with Severus Snape. You didn't trust him. Not since the incident with Lily in fifth year. And rightfully so. Regardless of the headmaster's unwavering faith in him, you were convinced he was going to screw with Remus and his job. Whether payback for things in the past or simple jealousy. 

"I don't see how that's any of your business," He sneered at you as he turned away, walking down the dark empty halls of the dungeon's hallways. 

"I'm his nurse-"

"He won't even let you treat him, and if you knew what was good for you," he crossed his arms. You felt as useless as when he and Lily had started arguing in fourth year. "You'd forget about him, its pathetic-" 

You knew it was pointless to speak to the man. You often pondered if he saw glimpses of Lily in you just as you saw them in him.

You huffed as the two of you walked your separate ways. You felt sixteen again. Mindlessly, you walked to the defense against the dark arts tower. It wasn't a section of the castle you found yourself in often or at all anymore, your days as a student had long passed. You focused on the stone stairs. You felt like your hands were clammy and freezing at the same time. You didn't know if you were overstepping a boundary. 

Classes had finished for the day, the kids ran around the castle, some greeting you some not. You didn't mind. You knocked softly at his office door with your knuckles. You suddenly felt insecure about your red robes and white apron, it was nearly identical to Poppy Pomfrey's. She said something about yours having a younger silhouette. Whatever the hell that meant. 

"Come in," Remus's voice called out through the door. You turned the door knob hesitantly. You couldn't help but stare at the artifacts and books thrown and placed about. "Ah, welcome"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," you still didn't dare say his name, it was stuck in your throat like a bubble of water and air that forms when you drink too fast. You felt like you might choke. "I just needed to know if you were taking a certain potion-"

Remus nodded, an understanding smile playing on his lips. 

"I am,"

"Okay good," you trailed off as you finally looked at him straight on. His hands had stopped their task, ink-dipped feather placed back on his desk as he also stared at you. You fiddled with your fingers behind your back. "I'm sorry, Severus wouldn't answer my question and I needed to know so as to not give you anything that might react poorly-"

"It's alright," Remus bit his lip slightly, you could tell he was bouncing his leg from under his desk.

"I'll take my leave then" you turned away from him. 

"Y/N" you stopped at the door, the cold metal handle cooling your hand. "D'you want some tea?"

You couldn't say no. Not to him. So you turned back and nodded. 

Remus smiled softly, seemingly relieved. 

-

Your tea time with Remus had been filled with content silence. Neither of you felt the urge to speak, it was a comfortable stillness as you sat side by side looking out his window. You didn't feel the need to express anything or address the twelve years that you were absent from each other's lives.

This felt enough for now. 

As the sun set you left, with a thank you and a small smile. He mirrored it. You felt like a bit of weight had been lifted and you spent the rest of the night with a small smile on your face. 

The next few weeks went along about the same, healer duties with the bonus of Remus passing by the hospital wing later on and having tea silently or you seeking him out in his office. You were afraid to talk, like you'd ruin it if you did. You felt as if your desperation to erase the last twelve years of silence and solitude might consume you.

But the full moon came around again and you desperately hoped Remus would come in the morning. For you to fuss over him, to make sure he was properly fed, to give him whatever sweets he wanted. You wanted to kiss the scars on his face as you once did, to run your fingers through his hair as you reassured him that it was over, that he was okay. Even if he kept his consciousness thanks to the potion, transformations were rough on him. You hadn't been able to even close your eyes.

You heard a knock on your door. You briefly glanced at the clock on your desk, 5:30 AM. Remus was out of it. And probably outside your door. You scrambled from your bed, closing the distance between you and the door, and cracked it open. Sure enough, the brown-haired man stood there, with his greenish-pale face and clammy skin.

"I'm sorry-"

"Remus please-" You dragged him inside, quickly directing him towards your bed. You made sure he laid down while you assessed him for any accidental injuries. As you got to work Remus watched you, the way you muttered to yourself as you read the labels to potions and serums to try and help him. Your dark blue silk gown flowed down your body, reaching right over your knee. It reminded him of a river at night. The lighter blue robe loosely tied around you pooled around ur feet as u crouched next to your medicine box. 

“Here drink this, it should make you feel better,” you say next to him, one leg tucked under your thigh, the other hanging from the side of the bed. You brought the small vial up to his lips, one hand under his head to try to bring him up. The green liquid tasted slightly bitter but he drank the whole vial without reproach. 

Remus sighed as he felt his body warm. You got up again, opening and closing cabinets, muttering to yourself again. You found a chocolate bar and a cloth with a sigh and walked briskly back to his side. Remus felt sadness bubble up from deep within. He thought of you all alone for so many years, he watched your face as you dabbed a warm damp cloth around his face. He hadn’t noticed before, how you didn’t look all that older. Tired, yes, beautiful, always. Last time he had seen you, the two of you were freshly 21 and you felt like you would eat the world raw. Now you were 33. Most people your age haven’t seen half of what you had. You had a frown on your face, and your eyes reflected a deep sorrow. 

You were so young. Remus thought of your time apart. He couldn't rationalize that he had lived so long without you.

You were both still so young.

”I’m sorry,” Remus couldn’t help saying it

”You don’t have to apologize for anything Rem,” your voice was barely above a whisper, you conjured some water in the glass on your bedside table. You went to help him drink from it and he grabbed it from your hand, sitting up.

“I do though,” his eyebrows stitched together in worry, he placed the cup back in its original spot. He couldn’t help but look away “I left-“

Your hands dropped onto your lap, you felt like your heart was falling out of your chest.

”You didn’t owe me anything, we just drifted-“

”Love you know that’s not true,” your head spun at the nickname, you hadn’t heard it come out of his mouth in so long. Old habits die hard. “I left you alone and we’re all the other has left.”

He shook his head and felt his eyes fill with tears. You could feel the tears start falling from yours as well.

”It’s my fault I should’ve tried harder-“ Remus laughed in indignation.

”Y/N it is not your fault,” as you tried to talk, to somehow convince him and yourself that your distance had been your doing, that you had been the one to cut him off, the one to leave, he grabbed your hand. “I was the one that stopped answering calls and the door, I moved away, I’m the one that did everything in my power to not think about what had happened and that included leaving you-"

Remus couldn't help but think the worst of himself, as he saw the tears stain your cheeks and your nose redden. You were full-on crying now, clutching his hand like he would vanish into thin air. Remus Lupin was someone who left. He knew this, he always had been, as a kid he ran from his problems. From his lycanthropy, from his mother's illness in his teenage years, from his father's sadness. He ran then, spending holidays at Hogwarts where he could pretend that the only thing that plagued him was the full moon, moving in with Sirius and Peter right after graduation. Being the first one out of the door after they had to go their separate ways for safety.

He was still a man that left. He left you as the both of you stood alone in the ruins of the family you had all built. He ran as far as he could. 

Remus Lupin was someone who left. And he feared that the look on your face now would forever make his heart bleed. Because how could he have let himself leave you?

But you didn't see that, and if you did you didn't hold it against him. Your tear-ridden eyes shone when you looked at him. He felt like he might suffocate under your gaze. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, for all the years he didn't, for all the times he almost did. Remus Lupin wanted to kiss you more than anything else in the world. 

That could wait, he had already waited a lifetime anyway.

He pulled your arm until your body collided with his chest, heart to heart. His hand pressed your head close to him, your hands gripping his soft sweater until your knuckles turned white. He buried his face in your hair as you both cried, sobs trembling through both your chests. Your knees on the bed as your top half lay on top of him. You didn't care, the only thing you could think about was how he was here now, how he held you, and the way his hand rubbed up and down your back. 

"Please never leave Remus," the words managed to escape you between sobs, and he could hardly manage to croak out a never again.

And he never would. Remus vowed to himself, at this moment with you in his arms, he'd never let go again.

He'd never leave.

-

It had become a habit for the two of you, to seek each other's comfort. You'd wonder what it felt like to kiss him. Although you were close now, there seemed to be a line neither of you would cross. Wary of the other's reaction. You figured that maybe after so many years any romantic interest in you had dissipated. 

So the habit persisted, he'd come beaten and battered after a full moon, Severus's potion-making is quite unreliable, isn't it? You figured he did it on purpose. And you'd patch the brown-haired man, only then would he pull you into his arms. Remus was soft and pliable, the exhaustion of the transformation made him melt into your body and your bed. He more often than not dragged himself to your room, even when the full moon was far, even when he felt good. He would make his way to your room, and you'd always greet him with your arms wide open and ready to press your bodies together until you fell asleep. He'd usually be gone by morning.

It was December now,  and the cold made his joints feel brittle and ache. 

He had gone directly to your room after dinner, he couldn't help but watch you as you got ready for bed. He stripped down from his robes until he was only in a loose white tee and a pair of joggers he had permanently left in your room. The aches that resonated through him often made you forget that Remus Lupin was still a young man. You were only 33. The remainders of youth highlighted the shape of his body as he threw himself on your bed. The white tee shifted upwards with his arms revealing slivers of his torso. You couldn't help but look through your mirror as you brushed your hair. 

Your dynamic had become somewhat domestic, he'd watch you get ready and pull you into his arms to sleep together. You felt like a silly teenager, playing house. Like this was the life you were supposed to live, the soft music pouring from the record player, a soft song you heard many years ago. The type of song that makes nostalgia and melancholy settle in your heart. This was it, the life you were supposed to live was the way Remus crossed the room and pulled you by the hand. The way his arm pulled you close and you slow danced, laughing at the way you tumbled around. You deserved a soft life, one with chocolate frogs and slow rhythms. A life with laughter and joy, of feeling unjudged, of feeling safe and warm. 

A life full of love.

And as Remus spun you around and laughter poured from both your lips you couldn't help but feel your heart swell. It felt like a warm flower bloomed in your chest as you looked at his smiling face. He slowed your spinning around the room as the song came to a close but you remained in his arms, you could feel the tip of his fingers tug slightly at a lock of your hair. You couldn't help but smile up at him between giggles. 

"Can I kiss you?" his words were merely a whisper, like a ghost of desire. And you couldn't help but smile even wider, pulling his neck down to press your lips against his soft ones. He tasted of spearmint and chocolate, and you couldn't help but break into a smile, lips still pressed onto his. He leaned back, holding your face between his large hands. Laughter bubbled from his lips as he leaned in for a second kiss, head spinning, his lips soft but firm. He dragged his lips to your cheeks, pressing pecks on the apples of your cheeks, on your jaw, on your neck. Laughter bounced between the two of you.

Fifteen years of desire piled up to one kiss. 

This life was the one you deserved. 

[p0orbaby]

Take One for the Team

summary: you and alexia are in a secret relationship

warnings: talks of sex

a/n: i volunteer as tribute

word count: 1.1k

-

Alexia's been on a warpath for a week now. You can tell because she's more vocal than usual about everyone else's inadequacies, and that's saying something. Today, she's pacing around the changing room like a caged lioness, ranting about the “abysmal” performance during training. You’re pretty sure she’s the only one who noticed anyone playing badly. The rest of the team looks at each other like, “What the hell is she talking about?”

To be fair, she's not entirely wrong. Someone did manage to miss an open goal from three yards out, but the way she's going on, you'd think that someone also insulted her grandmother and keyed her car.

In one particularly low moment, she accuses Ona of “running like she’s towing a tractor.” Ona’s response is to half-heartedly flip her off, which might’ve made Alexia angrier, but she’s already storming off to harass someone else.

You’re trying to stay under the radar because you’ve already received your daily dose of Alexia’s wrath earlier when you suggested—very helpfully, you thought—that she might want to “relax her shoulders a little.” You even demonstrated a quick shoulder roll for her. In response, she gave you a stare so cold you’re surprised you didn’t get frostbite on the spot.

So, you’re sitting on the bench, quietly tying your shoelaces and pretending you’re anywhere but here, when Aitana slides in next to you. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sighs dramatically and starts fiddling with a pretend loose thread on her shorts.

“Do you think she’s always like this?” Aitana asks eventually. “I mean, off the pitch. Like, what’s her problem?”

You shrug because what else can you do? You can’t exactly explain to Aitana that Alexia’s been on edge because you stole the last of her favorite cereal this morning and refused to apologise. In your defense, it was your cereal. But Alexia can hold a grudge like nobody’s business, and you’re pretty sure that’s why she’s been lashing out at everyone.

Still, you’re not about to say that out loud. You like your life the way it is, uncomplicated by having your secret relationship exposed by a rogue comment about breakfast food.

The others start to gather around, sensing a potential gossip session. The changing room is like that, everyone gravitating toward any sign of drama, like moths to a flame. Irene joins in, wiping sweat off her forehead with her shirt and making it clear she’s had enough of Alexia’s mood swings.

“She needs to get laid,” she declares, completely deadpan.

You almost choke on your own saliva, trying to play it cool while swallowing your surprise. The rest of the team nods in agreement, as if this is the most reasonable suggestion anyone has made in days. You, meanwhile, are caught between wanting to laugh and desperately trying not to give yourself away.

“She probably hasn’t gotten any in weeks,” Cata adds with a knowing smirk, like she’s an expert in Alexia’s sex life. Or her supposed lack thereof.

Mapi grins like she’s just figured out how to solve world hunger. “We need to volunteer someone”

Oh no. No, no, no. You can see where this is going, and you’re about to make a break for it when, Patri, Irene, and Mapi all turn to you simultaneously, their eyes practically gleaming with mischief.

“You should do it,” Patri says, pointing a finger at you like she’s accusing you of a crime.

You blink at her, feigning innocence. “Why me?”

Irene shrugs. “Why not? You’re like... the calmest person here. You can handle her”

Ingrid’s eyes narrow in on you, and she tilts her head. “Plus, you’re not bad-looking”

“I appreciate the backhanded compliment,” you say dryly, glancing at the door, wondering if you can make a run for it before they start making detailed plans. “But why would I want to-”

“Take one for the team!” Mapi interrupts, practically cackling. The others join in, laughing like they’ve just solved a great mystery. “It’s a win-win. She gets laid, and we don’t have to deal with her bullshit for at least a day”

You have to admit, it’s a decent plan. If you weren’t already sleeping with Alexia, that is. But they don’t know that, and you can’t exactly tell them without revealing your secret, which would definitely make things awkward.

You open your mouth to object, but Ona cuts you off. “It’s perfect. You’ve got that whole mysterious vibe. She’ll be into it”

“You think she’ll be into it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Marta grins. “She might kill you first, but that’s a risk we’re willing to take”

They all laugh, and you can’t help but smirk. They have no idea how much Alexia is “into it,” but you’re not about to spill the beans now.

“Fine,” you say with a dramatic sigh, pretending to mull it over. “I’ll do it. For the team”

Irene pats you on the back like you’re about to go off to war. “Good luck, soldier. You’re going to need it”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you deadpan, but they’re already high-fiving each other, congratulating themselves on their brilliant scheme.

-

Later, when you finally get Alexia alone, she’s still fuming, muttering something about people not taking the game seriously. You’re not really paying attention, though, because you’re still stuck on what the team said earlier. You can’t help but laugh when you think about it, which only makes Alexia glare at you more.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps, crossing her arms.

You shake your head, still grinning. “Nothing. Just thinking about how you’re really wound up lately”

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “And?”

“And,” you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as you pull her in by the waist, “the team thinks you need to get laid”

Alexia blinks at you, her expression shifting from anger to surprise, and then she lets out a laugh, genuine and loud, like she hasn’t in days. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nuzzling her neck as she relaxes in your arms. “They volunteered me. Said I should take one for the team”

Alexia pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her mouth curving into a wicked smile. “You told them we’ve been doing that for months now?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head. “Figured I’d let them keep thinking they’re the geniuses”

She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief, then leans in to kiss you, her lips warm and soft against yours. When she pulls back, she looks a lot less stressed than she did before, which you consider a job well done.

“Think I’ll have to thank them later,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “You mean thank me?”

Alexia’s eyes glint with that same dangerous edge from before, but this time it’s paired with a smirk that promises nothing but trouble. “I already do, don’t I?”

You can’t argue with that. And for once, neither can the team.

[hoshigray]

Having thoughts about Toji crushing on a cutie little cinnamon roll. Maybe they go on a few dates before he finally gets her home with him, and just as things are heating up he realizes oh, she’s a virgin. That doesn’t mean he’s not interested, but it changes how he wants to go about it.

Noonie, yeeeeeeeeessss!!! I had the dumbest grin while reading this in my inbox teheheee~ Longer than I intended but what the hell lol hope you like it!!

Cw: dom! Toji x fem!reader - age gap (the reader is at least in their 20s and in college; Toji is around mid-30s) -missionary position - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - ass grabbing - pussy eating - biting (Toji bites your ears) - edging (fem! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, sweetheart, mama, princess) - clitoral play - light comedy bc I do[n't] think I'm funny. Wc: 2k

"Ready, baby?"

Your body goes rigid, fingers playing with the hem of your shirred frilled cami romper. A shaky sigh seethes from a wary smile. "Yes." The man in front of you grins before opening the door to his place, and you enter to your doom.

Toji has been courting you for quite some time. It started with small greetings when he visited the café where you work for his usual order of black coffee. Then those greetings slowly evolved into casual chit-chat, prompting Toji to ask you out because he couldn't resist your kindhearted aura.

How could he when his day instantly brightens when you flash your gorgeous smile every time you see him? Or when you always give him a call or text anytime you return to your dorm after hanging outside campus grounds. And when you're done with work, you let him drive and drop you off at your dorm. But that's because he always stays at the café until you get off: watching you welcome customers who enter the space, offering free treats to kids, or giving him a tiny smile from the other side of the shop whenever you catch him staring. Makes him snicker like an idiot.

But his favorite moment with you was the first time you two kissed on your third date. Oh, Toji could replay the scene all fucking day. With your eyes lidded, lips quivering and gripping onto his leather jacket as the man peppered you in kisses, he adored your display of pleasure. And it was even more adorable when you nervously bid him goodnight before entering your dorm room.

It was entertaining how he was the only one that made you — his cute little darling — so shy whenever he came too close. So much so that it turned him on, his desire to have you under him waxing inside him day by day. Except he doesn't, choosing to wait for the perfect time.

And now, when he finally has you where he's been dying to have you, Toji's allowed to indulge in your charm personally. There are shudders of anticipation around him as he kisses you on the couch, his big hands roaming over your form. A deep chortle vibrates his throat when he bites your bottom lip, resulting in a shivering whimper from your swollen lips. Oh, he's going to enjoy every second of this.

But as someone on the other side of the makeout session, you found yourself in an unpleasant position. Not because you didn't want to be here smacking lips with Toji, oh no. He was a great kisser, taking your breath away simply by his lips. No, the real problem was more personal.

Something so personal that it has your brows trench as Toji's hands snake down to your butt, kneading it like putty. Wait a minute...

"Mmmm, Toji, please wa—"

"Shhhh," he hushes you with kisses down your neck. "Taste so good, angel."

Something very personal that your eyes are towed shut when he creeps a hand inside through the bottom of your romper, a warm palm groping the soft flesh of your ass. Wait, wait, wait!

Something extremely personal that you gasp sharply when you feel two fingers sneak past your panties. WAIT!!!

You push Toji off you in haste, and the older man stops with his hands up defensively. He looks at you with confusion, tilting his head to examine what's wrong. You squeak and throw apologies his way. "I'm so so sorry! I'm-I'm just...umm...."

It takes a few seconds for Toji to piece everything together, with the way you're talking in quiet mumbles, your hands fidgeting with your romper again, and your eyes downward to avoid his gaze. His head straightens with eyes slightly wide. Is...Is she a—

"Are you a virgin, sweetheart?" Another muffled squeak confirms his suspicions, and you nod with hesitance.

What were you thinking pushing him off!? If you're gonna have your first time with anyone, why not be the man you're attracted to? But then again, it is YOUR first time!! In humiliation, you cover your face with your hands, the phone call you had with your best friend earlier replaying in your head ("Get it, girl! You either die a virgin or live long enough to get some good dick in your life." "That's the worst way to reference that movie!" "What-the-fuck-ever, go get that dick!!")

You can hear a chuckle from the man, and your eyes shut as you descend further into embarrassment. Oh God, I should've taken my dumbass home so I didn't have to deal with this later and cry myself to—

Your train of thought grinds to a halt when Toji pulls you into his chest. "Oh c'mere, ya cutie." He rubs circles on your back. "Did my lil' angel save herself up fr' me to deflower?"

"No, you perv!" He barks out a laugh above you, not helping this situation. "I just...I-" You try to retort, but the way he looks at you with a sly look and playful grin has your stomach flip. Why's he so goddamn handsome!? "I was just....never ready."

He hums pensively, still rubbing your back. He stays quiet for a while, and you don't bother fixing that while resting on his chest. He doesn't say anything until a minute later. "Think yr' ready now?"

"I don't know? Kinda scared..." You're honest. "But I...I really wanna do it with you, Toji."

"Then, do ya trust me?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, in that case," Toji carefully pushes you off him before he hoists you up bridal style. The swift motion catching by surprise as you hurriedly wrap your arms around his neck before he starts walking. Amused, he kisses your cheek. "Don't worry a thing, princess. Gonna take care of ya real good."

You gulp as your face goes hot. Oh, I definitely should've stayed my ass home...

Yeah, you definitely should've.

Fifteen minutes in, your senses are already clouded by the lapping motions of Toji's tongue on your vulva. You're lying on his bed, your figure writhing and back arching from the commotion between your legs. You tried to contain yourself by concealing your moans, yet your lips let the pornographic noises fly.

The last fifteen minutes have been spent preparing you for the big event. Toji started by fingering your hole, making you adjust to having a foreign limb within you. When you were wet enough, one digit became two, and you grabbed ahold of his shirt as he did his expert work on your soaking chasm.

Now in your nude, you let the man continue to prep you, his hands holding onto your legs with your pussy out for him to see, for him to toy with his wet muscle between your folds and drinking your essence.

"Ahhhh-Haaaah! T-Tojiii," you look so out of it, your head squirming around the pillow beneath you and your words slurred. You've already come two times; what more does this man need for you to be ready? "Oh God, it's too much fer mee, 's too muuch!"

A sharp cry exits your mouth when the man licks your clitoris, his deep forest green eyes peer up to look at you. He snickers, "C'mon, mama, you know I gotta have my girl ready to take in all of me." He flicks his tongue on your bud, and another yelp escapes your lips. "Lemme finish up here, 'kay?"

And he goes back to finishing you up, his hands grabbing you by the hips to bring you closer to his ravenous mouth. You clutch tufts of his raven hair, and his name comes out in incoherent babbles.

Your eyes start to water as your head gets dizzy with the raunchy noises from down south. Your cold sweat contrasts with your hot bare form, and the throbbing sensation between your legs festers under your skin.

Beads of sweat scroll down your forehead. You're close to release. "Hngg! Toji, I'm gonna cu-cummm!"

Suddenly, Toji removes from your legs, leaving you and your pulsing slits to the substituted cold air. You whine for your neglected orgasm that withers away, propping yourself up to beg him to give you what you want. But your breath hitches before you can make a complaint.

Toji is off his bed, withdrawing his shirt and jeans, freeing his cock from his boxer briefs. You can't help but stare at the member before you. Following the trail of hair from his lower abdomen, his erection sprung up with precum oozing out. Compared to your fingers or toys, his dick is way beyond your comprehension in length and girth.

Oh, to die from the first dick you've ever taken. How poetic.

Toji notices you ogle at his shaft, sneering as he returns to the bed. "Like what ya see, cutie?" You chew on your lip when Toji props your legs around his waist, a hand used to position his shaft to your leaky entrance. "Gonna start real slow, so take some deep breaths fr' me, 'kay baby?" You nod, internally bracing yourself for what's about happen.

The head of his cock touches your slit, and you jolt. "Relax, baby. It's gonna hurt if you're tense like that." He coaxes, your breathing securing you from the intrusion. He watches you; with each exhale, he pushes himself. The unfamiliar limb prying in your vagina and the pain you're experiencing is like no other. But you bite down on your lip to push through.

When the tip makes it in, you gasp. Gradually, Toji pushes his member further into you, stretching your tight hole to accommodate his girth. You try to compose yourself with even breaths, but you shriek when you feel his length brush against your G-spot. When the base kisses your cunt, Toji gives you a few minutes to adapt to him. "How ya feelin'?"

"So full..." You look at him with brows scrunched, eyes hooded, and tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Hmm, I bet." He wipes your tears with the rough pads of his fingers before slowly thrusting into you. You grip his shoulders for support, your pussy tightening around his length while your legs cage him. "Oooooh, Christ, you're so tight, mama. Drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

And you're about to be driven crazier when his hips pick up the pace, his dick hitting your sweet spots with precision. It's so surreal finally experiencing your first time, especially with Toji. Maybe it's because he's older and more experienced, but whatever expectations you had up until this point have been blown out of the water. The slap of his pelvis on your slick-coated folds fills his room, his throaty groans sound way too good to the ears, and his hot kisses on your lips make you melt. It all feels so electrifying.

Just when you thought you were undergoing it all, Toji slithers a hand down to your clitoris and swipes up and down on the pearl with his thumb. A choked sob leaves puffy lips, "T-Toji, I'm so close. Please, please, please, let me—Oh God."

"Hnnmph, oh shit—" He's close, too. He bends down to nibble on your ear yet licks the pain away. "I know, sweetheart. Come on me." His thrusts then go faster, a merciless tempo you were unprepared for. Shrieks go higher as your orgasm climbs up, and it hits you hard when Toji's fingers play with your clit again. Your climax sends shivers up your spine, your tender walls pulsating on Toji's cock.

And the older man pulls his dick out of your sensitive cunt, letting his come spill onto your stomach. It looked so lewd yet deliciously attractive, especially with him heaving on top of you with his black bangs sticking to his forehead.

When you two calm down, Toji scans your disheveled appearance and chuckles. "Damn, yr' gonna have me addicted to ya, princess." Your stomach was wiped off with a towel that Toji had on hand as you giggled aimlessly.

"Wanna go again?"

"......yes?" You avoid eye contact and turn away bashfully. He chortles and kisses your cheek once more.

"So fuckin' cute."