#WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR ME TO JUST DO THE THINGS I NEED TO DO

[seasidefallenangel]

now say i'm the only one you need

ranking the bllk men on how good of a boyfriend they are ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness

song from here listen to it to get a kiss from me

༄ isagi: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” he’s incredibly attentive of all your needs and overall is very good at balancing his soccer career with your relationship. dictionary definition of “walk him like a dog.” anything you say goes and he’s more than happy with things being that way. actually has a pretty high tolerance for whatever things you might put him through, he tends to be good at solving problems before they can spiral out of control. the most you’ll have to deal with is the fact he can be kind of on the more awkward and shy side of things, unsure how to really be in a relationship. he wasn’t really popular or well known at all before blue lock, so at most he had crushes that were one-sided. his friends joke and tease about how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t even care that they’re right.

༄ bachira: 9/10

the thing with bachira is that you’re not gonna date him unless you’re okay with all of his quirks, so there’s really nothing “bad” or unexpected going into the relationship. at his worst he can be clingy and a smidge overbearing, but he’s terrified of you deciding you want something more, better than him. he’s very easy going because of this, and really won’t have any disagreements with whatever ideas strike you. you’re actually a rock in this life, and he feels safe confiding all the thoughts clawing at his mind when he’s being held in your arms. despite what people may think, he does have a calmer temperament to him - generally after practice or late at night. he’s a big cuddle bug and will most likely fall asleep on your stomach, clinging to you so you can’t leave him.

༄ chigiri: 5/10

rose-glasses off, chigiri kinda sucks. he’s very selfish without the whole egoist thing going on, and it’s confirmed in canon that a lot of people get turned off by his personality after being drawn in by his looks. he obviously has some interest in you if you’re dating, but that doesn’t mean his bad traits magically go away. his mindset is very “me before you.” if you’re arguing he’s going to bring up points for the sole purpose of hurting you because he has to be right. he has too much pride to admit when he's wrong but also to apologize for his actions. on the opposite side of that, though, is compliments and the like are easy for him to give you. he’s pretty open with his opinions so if he likes a certain thing about you he has no qualms with telling you as such. he would never deny you're dating and generally likes to show you off, wanting everyone to know he bagged an incredible person. he’s not the worst person to date, but it probably won’t be worth anything as a long term relationship.

༄ nagi: 6/10

nagi is my favorite character and that’s why i need to say this. he does have some merit for what it’s worth. he’s very physically affectionate and is also really easy to be around. i see him as being more open to compromise if you’re stern enough with him. he might complain a bit but he’s not that hard to convince. the biggest issue with him is that he just… doesn’t care. if he goes to a new cafe with you it’s cause you asked him, not because he wanted to. it’s not that he doesn’t love you, he just doesn’t process things like this in his brain. the concept of ‘doing things for your partner before they ask’ doesn’t click. he’s not a mind reader, so isn’t just being vocal about what you want the easiest? he doesn’t really expect much from you as a partner so easily grows confused at why you have these random demands and expectations from him when you know exactly how he is. it might not be a dealbreaker, but it does make you question if he’s ever actually enjoying his time with you.

༄ reo: 8/10

reo’s biggest issues are 1.) he's absurdly jealous and 2.) his money. the thing with his money is the fact he uses it almost as a deflector of sorts. if you have a genuine problem you need to sort out with him, he's giving you new jewelry, designer bags, dinners at michelin star restaurants instead of talking it out. he doesn’t want to give you the chance to bring up your displeasure in regards to something he’s done. it’s his default answer because it’s the only thing people have wanted from him. reo is actually very scared of conflict. he’s worried you’ll leave him at the first sign of him not being the picture perfect boyfriend that’s expected from him, which ties into the jealousy. if someone has a trait you admire, he’ll mold himself to fit that thing you seem to like.  he hates when you even acknowledge other people’s talents or attractive features  (save for nagi.) speaking of nagi, it’s played out but i do believe he’s the only person reo will share you with. if nagi wants to cuddle, kiss, act like your boyfriend, reo has no issue as long as he’s involved too. when you’re someone reo truly loves, he’ll let you do pretty much anything to him with no repercussions. it’s very easy to take advantage of him as long as you promise stay by his side.

༄ rin: 7/10

no matter how much he denies it, rin tries very hard to be sae. he wants to be the nonchalant boyfriend, never losing his cool and making it seem like you’re always running back for more. in truth, he couldn’t be more obvious about how badly he needs you. he has this sort of non-stop identity crisis going so he’s going to have this front of “fine with you, fine without you.” he wants you to think he doesn’t need you that bad because he’s worried you’ll see him as weak. the thing that makes it obvious is that when you’re threatening to leave because he’s just too hot and cold, he caves instantly. teeth gritted, he’ll ask what you want him to change, what kind of person should he be for you? after sae, he became so desperately starved for love that the second you started dating  he felt like he was suffocating, always needing your validation but unable to ask for it. similarly to reo, he’s easy to take advantage of if you insinuate that you’re unhappy with something currently in your relationship. be gentle because you can break him apart and he’ll always think it was his fault.

༄ sae: 9/10

i’m gonna go against the grain and say that sae is actually a great boyfriend because he wouldn’t bother getting into a relationship to begin with if he didnt think it’s worth his time. he’s an incredibly self assured person so he has no reason to be all wishy-washy with who he’s interested. sae’ll make it clear he wants to date you and obviously you’re reciprocating because duh, he’s sae itoshi. from the get go he’ll remind you that soccer is his career, his lifeblood, and while he loves you more, his priorities lay there. the fact he straight up admits it instead of letting it become a festering issue is exactly why he’s so good because neither of you will have wasted time in the relationship. he’s also easier to talk to than one might think. sae generally believes drawn out arguments are pointless  and wasting energy on them doesn’t help anyone, so any that you two have are squashed pretty quickly. affection comes pretty easily to him but he can be a little emotionally absent at his worst. it’s not really something that changes over time, but he has other methods of making sure you know he adores you. it’s very “what you see is what you get.” if you’re acquainted with him at all, there’s really no negative surprises or unexpected twists that put a damper on the romance between you both. if nothing else, he makes sure the whole world know exactly who you belong to, and it leaves you with no room to doubt he plans to keep you by his side forever.

༄ karasu: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” this is generally a shock to people who know the kind of company he keeps around but the thing is that karasu doesn’t approve of otoya’s behavior. he goes from insinuating otoya could be doing better things with his time than leading girls on to flat out telling him he’s pathetic for not holding down a relationship. most of the girls who have their hearts broken by otoya fall in love with karasu right after from how kindly he treats them and the way he apologizes for his friends nasty habits. karasu holds a lot of respect for you as a person since he’s attracted to people he can analyze and read into. a common bonding activity is just him asking your opinions on certain topics or how you’d approach a theoretical situation and he’ll sit back and listen, trying to dig into your mind. he’s also very self aware of his flaws and will admit he isn’t perfect but is always working to better himself (“his weakness is that he can't be nice to people he thinks are mediocre and knows he needs to fix that.”) it’s not like you’ll never have issues, but he always resolves them in a way that doesn’t add tension or doubt to your relationship. he’s also good with all 5 love languages and prefers to show them all to you, but if you have ones you prefer or dislike then he can easily adjust. he’s always listening to you, learning about you, wanting to be the best version of himself he can for you.

༄ otoya: 6/10

the glaring bone of contention with otoya is obvious to anyone who knows him - but not in the way you think. otoya can be a good boyfriend if he wants ; he knows what girls like, what makes them happy, how to keep them satisfied. he’s had enough practice for it to be second nature. once you're in a genuine relationship with him, he’s going to treat you pretty well. thing is - that’s exactly his problem. in the back of your head you know why he’s so good at this. you know you’re an idiot for thinking you can change him despite the fact you did. it’s just impossible to believe. every time he tries to reassure you that yes, you’re his only, he doesn’t want to go back to his old ways, you’re just staring at him thinking to yourself, ‘wonder how many times he’s used this line on someone.’ you’re just never going to have a sense of security with him because there’s always this lingering "what if" bouncing around. the worst part is that it’s not an unreasonable line of thought. mindless paranoia is one thing, but there’s so much proof against him that you’d be more humiliated for assuming he isn’t cheating on you - you can’t date a serial cheater and be really that mad or shocked if he does. you know what you signed up for accepting his confession, so your entire viewpoint is that it’s a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. you can never ever say with full confidence he's 100% yours, even when he is.

༄ yukimiya: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” i know it’s like beating a dead horse since this is a commonly shared sentiment but he really is incredible. a big part of the reason why is actually the fact he’s emotionally mature. he’s in tune with how he feels and knows how to convey it respectfully but isn’t so set in his ways he can’t see what points you want to make if you were to disagree on something. something else is that he’s very good at reading your micro-behaviors and can fall in line pretty well with how you act without compromising his own personality (in comparison to how someone like bachira or alexis would.) if you tend to be on the shyer side, not really one to defend yourself, he has no issue stepping in and solving whatever problem is going on. on the flip if you are more outgoing and not scared to bite at people then he'll fall back, only intervening when he can sense things’ll get ugly if he doesn’t tug on your leash a little bit. something he particularly enjoys doing is picking up hobbies or skills that you enjoy or would appreciate. he’ll learn how to cook if you hate it or asks you to read your favorite books to him at night, wrapped in his arms while he presses a gentle kiss against your temple. 

༄ kaiser: 4/10 to 8/10 

the thing with kaiser is that he’s a really good boyfriend, but you have to go through hell to get to that point. he has so many walls and has all these little “tests” where he tries to catch you using him for his money, status, looks, etc. kaiser wants to convince himself that love obviously isn’t real ; look at his parents for god’s sake. so he’s always trying to plan some “gotcha” thing and catch you in the act. the issue is, he doesn’t. you’re really like this from the bottom of your heart and he can’t wrap his head around that fact. so he goes to the emotion he knows best - anger. he’s lashing out at you for lying to him, accusing you of all sorts of things because surely there’s no way this is real, that he has something fully his, someone who cherishes him and sees him for his best. this entire process isn’t a few months either - this is a good two or three years. he has a lot of built up trauma to navigate both on his own and with you. if you somehow have the conviction to get through this then he’ll be a really incredible guy to have around. he loves you so fiercely that he’d rather die than let the one good thing he’s been gifted to slip from his fingers, but everyone in your life is going to hate him by then and insist he hasn’t changed, feeling like you’re going to eventually be broken by him.

༄ alexis: ?/10

alexis is actually pretty similar to bachira, just more extreme. in any other context, his obsessions would be viewed as something of concern or distasteful but dating alexis means you already would know about it and in turn only get into a relationship if you were okay with it. it’s not as if his attachment to kaiser is a secret. if you’re going in with the “i can fix him” mentality then you’ve doomed yourself already. you have to already accept his quirks and such to really reach him in a way that matters. a relationship with him is this unending back and forth. you're actually not really going to be viewed as this untouchable deity because he's already yours. he doesn't have to prove his worth like with kaiser. the thing is that kaiser molded who he is now so kaiser is kind of his tie to humanity - without him, alexis doesn’t really have much keeping him tied to earth. don’t think you’re not important to him because and he’s going to insane lengths for you to accept his unhealthy outlets of showing his love and devotion to you. he feels so much more human with you because you’re giving him the attention that he has to beg kaiser for but without the requirements to earn it - you just love him naturally. he’s not trying to prove that he deserves your love, he’s trying to prove that he loves you just as much back but he doesn’t know how to do it normally. he doesn’t know how to offer himself to you in a way that isn’t self destructive. he’s stuck in this non-stop cycle of you trying to convince him he doesn’t need to like earn your love and him thinking that it’s you saying he’s not doing enough to to earn your love and thus he goes to more extremes. if you can handle it then he’s great for you, you’ll never question that he’s madly in love with you. but if you get overwhelmed then he grows more unstable, and you’re stuck trying to make him better while he makes himself worse to hopefully get you to finally praise him for shattering who he is.

[sevsgiirl]

Omg okay I can't stop thinking about needy lovesick Sevika with a younger femme partner (you can totally do a continuation of the fic you wrote) so what if, she's a little needy&insecure for their age gap? That her girl gets bored/annoyed with her? (She doesn't have this type of thoughts all the time, but the seeds of doubts grows when she hears other people talk, not directly about her and reader, but in general but it does linger when others points out how different they are) or in her own way, she start craving more compliments, affections from her but dunno how to do it and at the same time she's trying to gauce if her girl still likes her (she does!!) yet just the thoughts/doubts hurts Sevika like so bad, because she would do anything for her darling, what she has to do to make her girl still love her and not leave her?

— sevika with a younger partner and feeling insecure

synopsis: sevika doesn’t have a type. whether they’re older or younger, just as long as they could keep up with her that’s all mattered. but ever since you two started dating, she starts to wonder if she’s the one who could keep up with you and how deep down, it scares her that you might find a problem with it eventually.

note: I just had to post this before going to sleep because the idea is too good. I love the way your brain works and again, thank you for sending in the req <3 love you and I hope you like this.

you were a beacon of light in the cesspool of chaos that is sevika’s life.

to this day, she still doesn’t understand how you and her got into a relationship but here you are now, going strong for almost a year and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you two rarely get into arguments, when you did she never hesitates to reach out and fix the situation right away because she can’t stand being on bad terms with you for long.

you two are on the same mental wavelength, which sevika appreciates given how you’re a lot younger than her. she’s in her 40s and you were in 20s, but sometimes she forgets because conversations always run smoothly between you two.

but just because she forgets that doesn’t mean other people fail to bring it up.

when you started dating, it was a bit difficult given how it wasn’t received well by a lot of her peers. not that they judged her for it because they could never unless they wanted to have their face busted in. but it was the occasional remarks that had a hint of judgement in them that made sevika uncomfortable.

things such as “she’s a bit young, isn’t she? you better keep an eye on her especially because you’re always at work. it’s hard being in a relationship with someone who’s at a different stage in life as you.”

both of you had jobs but her work compared to yours was hectic. you work as a waitress at jericho’s meanwhile sevika is paid to get her hands dirty for silco. the job was tedious and draining and sometimes she comes home, tired to the bone that she could barely catch up with you. which she feels immensely guilty for.

you’ve reassured her that it isn’t a big deal and that you understand her status in zaun is far more important than yours. you’ve always acknowledged sevika’s role in the under city and why she was feared by many, that’s what attracted you to her in the first place. she was loyal, devoted and her endurance was insane.

but still, despite how sevika’s job is her number one priority, it still doesn’t slip her mind that she may accidentally neglect you and your needs without her knowing.

and she knows it takes a toll on you too, you just don’t want to bring it up because you respect her too much. and she was right because when she came home early one night you weren’t there, and it was almost midnight when you finally returned and you were shocked to see sevika sitting on your couch waiting for you. usually she’d be back around 2-3am.

“hey, you didn’t tell me silco would let you off the hook early,” you said but your words became background noise because she was too focused on your appearance. you were dressed up and from where she sat she could tell you’ve had a lot to drink.

it’s not that it upset sevika you went out, you could do whatever you want but it saddens her that you didn’t even go out of your way to tell her about it assuming she’d be coming home late. is this what you do when she’s not here? go out with your friends and have fun? it’s not that she expects you to wait for her in your apartment all day while she’s away for work.

still, the thought bothers her as she wonders what you must’ve been up to while she was gone. she tries to set the thought aside, not wanting to think bad of you because she knows you’d never go against her back. but certain thoughts crept up at the back of her mind. did you meet someone while you were out? were you offered drinks? did someone invite you out to dance?

“sev, baby, you there?” she didn’t even realize she zoned out until she felt you cupping her cheek “are you tired? you shouldn’t have stayed up for me.”

she shook her head “it’s alright. but yeah, silco let me off early and I wanted to surprise you.”

your shoulders sagged “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d come home late again so I decided to just go out with friends. had I known I would’ve waited so we can stay in and cuddle.”

despite your flattery words, the only thing that stuck to sevika was you implying she’d be late again. you didn’t mean it maliciously, there was no bitterness in your tone but instead there was just… acceptance. which frustrated her because people were right.

perhaps being at different stages in life does this. you needed a partner who you can home to and have fun with but instead you got her who’s always late, is already asleep when you probably want to stay up and have sex at night. she would force herself to push through just for you but she isn’t getting any younger and it shows.

maybe it’s because others have planted it in her head that you two are just far too different that’s why she’s overthinking like this, but it’s becoming more and more evident that they were right and if she doesn’t find a way to fix this, god knows before you start seeing the cracks and the dents as well.

and so in the following day she asked silco if she could cut off her usual hours at work to get back home early. at least for a few weeks and silco was shocked for a second because if there was anyone who’s extremely dedicated to their job, it’s her.

but it’s because of that he deliberates on the request “very well,” he answered “but if the matters are urgent I expect you to come in either way,”

well, it’s better than nothing, sevika thought. what matters is she’ll try to find some time to spend the following weeks with you and to hopefully regain the spark in your relationship.

not that she’s saying it’s lost but she’s scared it will. because if her days don’t consist of work, she’s either at the bar playing cards to blow off some steam, which isn’t exactly a productive way of spending one’s time.

unlike you, you have tons of friends who you go out with at clubs and sevika just doesn’t want to think about all the people you meet there, who are probably the same age as you, and have wanted to ask you out but you turned them down because of her.

meanwhile, she’s here and she can’t even keep you happy like how you deserve.

it eats her up alive that’s why as soon as she comes back from work a lot earlier than usual, she immediately engulfs you in a back hug when she sees you cooking in the kitchen.

you gasped, not expecting her “sev, you’re home.” you were surprised as you turned around “did something happen?”

she shook her head, smiling “no sweetheart, silco just let me off early again. plus I’ve been meaning to spend more time with my girl…”

you still weren’t used to the disruption of the routine, because she’s normally away at these hours, but you weren’t complaining.

and with that, you spent most of the evening cooking and catching up with each other. you didn’t miss the way sevika followed you around the house like a lost puppy when you started cleaning up to get ready for bed.

you raised an eyebrow when she wrapped her arms around your waist while you were washing the dishes, noticing how she’s awfully more needy than usual.

“baby, go rest. you just got back home from work.” you giggled and she just shook her head.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like I haven’t been the best partner.”

that halted you in your tracks and you angled your head so you can face her “baby, what makes you think that?” your eyebrows were furrowed and she just held you tighter.

she lets out a breath, tired and awfully nervous about vocalizing her doubts. what if once she points it out you start seeing the red flags too? and then these affectionate gestures just won’t be enough? what then?

“I know with my job and the responsibilities I have, I haven’t been able to fulfill your needs. you have so much ahead of you and I’m always at work and I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m wasting your time.” she said and you just stood there, letting her words sink in.

“you’re young and you could be with someone whose head isn’t always stuck in a bunch of paperwork or is running around the lanes doing silco’s dirty work.” her jaw clenched and she starts to wonder if admitting to all of this was a good idea.

“I’m sorry, princess. I just don’t want to bore you by leaving you here at home all by yourself…”

you immediately swiveled around in her arms and took her face in your hands.

“sev, look at me.” you said, your voice stern “I could give less than two fucks about people my age. you think when I got into a relationship with you I didn’t know what I was signing myself up for? of course I did and I don’t regret any of it. I know you have responsibilities and I accepted all of your duties the moment you became mine.”

“I could never be bored of you, baby.” you told her, thumb caressing her cheek “you don’t treat me any differently because of my age so why should I? I love it that you’re so hard at work and that you provide for me. the fact my salary at jericho’s isn’t even enough to pay half of our rent but you don’t mind because you provide for us both, why would I find that boring? that’s fucking sexy.”

she couldn’t help but let out a snort “oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re staying with me because I’m basically your sugar mommy?”

you grinned “amongst other things,” you said before capturing her lips with your own.

the kiss was hot, heavy and slow as sevika gripped your hips and pulled you against her. pushing her knee up and sliding it across your thighs and she started rubbing against your clothed cunt, making you whimper.

“so you’re not bored of me? or mad?” she asked as she pulled away to look at you.

you rolled your eyes “you could be 23 or 75 for all I care and I still wouldn’t get bored of you.”

your finger drew circles around her chest as you fluttered your eyes up at her “plus you fuck me like you’re 23 anyway, so I don’t see why I would look for someone my age.”

she couldn’t help but laugh, swooping you up in her arms and you circled your legs around her waist as she walked you to your bedroom “god, you’re such a handful.” she said.

you smirked “but you love it.”

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.2

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable but that's definitely not the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: "who cares what they think" bf and overthinker gf are my roman empire

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max doesn't give you much of a choice.

One minute, you're wrapping up post-race debriefs with your teammates, pretending that you're not reeling from his reaction to your possible departure. They're very polite and do not pry into the conversation they all obviously heard. The next, he's standing by the garage exit, jacket in hand, waiting.

"Dinner," he says. It’s not a request.

You hesitate, glancing around. "I mean, I don't think-"

"I need to talk to you." His words are softer but still determined. "Properly. Not in the garage. Not with twenty people listening."

Your stomach twists. You should say no. You should.

Instead, you find yourself sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant, the scent of freshly baked bread and seared steak filling the air. It's nothing fancy. Fancy means attention. It's quiet, tucked away, the kind of place he probably picked because he assumed no one would bother him here.

But Max Verstappen is not someone who goes unnoticed.

Right now he's focused, barely glancing at the menu. It feels more like a business arrangement than a catch-up. That's how it's meant to be. Max is, in the hierarchy pyramid, somewhere a few diagonal triangles above you.

"Tell me what you need," he says as his fingers tap restlessly against the table. "More support? More control over the car setup? I'll talk to Christian."

You sigh, setting your menu down. "Max, it's not just about that. It's-"

A hushed voice at a nearby table. A phone camera clicks and, judging by the kerfuffle that follows, the person who pressed the button didn't expect it to be so loud.

Your stomach drops. Max's gaze flickers over your shoulder, jaw tightening as realization dawns.

"Shit," he mutters.

You don't turn around. You don't need to. The whispers are getting louder, the occasional giggle or gasp confirming what you already know-someone recognized him. And worse? They recognized you.

Your chest tightens. This is exactly what you didn't want. Attention. Speculation. The internet dissecting every detail of why Red Bull's star driver is having dinner with one of the team's engineers. Especially after that interview. Two things that should not be happening in quick succession.

Max leans forward and his voice is low. "Hey."

You shake your head, gripping your napkin like it's a lifeline. "I need to go."

"If you leave now, it’ll be worse."

You know he's right. Storming out will just make it look more suspicious. But that doesn’t stop the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Max studies you for a moment before making a decision. He leans back, body language shifting, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Then, loud enough for the nearby table to hear-

"You're overthinking. Just enjoy your food."

It's so casual, so normal, that for a split second, it throws you off. And judging by the way the whispers fade just a little, it throws everyone else off too.

Max is playing it cool. Acting like this is nothing, just a casual dinner, nothing worth speculating over.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to match his energy. You pick up your menu again, even though you're too tense to focus on the words. "Fine," you sigh. "But if this ends up all over Twitter, I'm blaming you."

His grin deepens. "I'll take full responsibility."

Under the table, where no one can see, his fingers graze against yours. It's only for a second. It's probably an accident, you tell yourself.

You look into his eyes and you know it means so much more than just that.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You wake up to chaos.

Your phone won't stop buzzing. The messages, missed calls, and notifications stacking up faster than you can process. At first, you think it's just another race week frenzy. Then you open Twitter.

Max Verstappen on a dinner date with Red Bull engineer. Garage romance?

Attached is the photo. A little grainy, taken from the next table over, but unmistakably you and Max. He's leaning in, smirking, looking far too comfortable across from you. You're gripping your menu like you were ready to bolt.

There are too comments to keep track of.

user1 she's been in the garage w him all season user2 Bro is dating his own engineer to fix the car 💀💀💀 user3 i fear they look GOOD together user4 is she the one he slipped up about in the interview??

You barely register the rest before Christian Horner is calling you. You pick up immediately instead of letting him go to voicemail. This is bad.

"Do you know what's happening online?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I just saw it."

He breathes loudly-you can hear it over the phone. "Look, we don't comment on personal lives, but if anyone asks, we stick to the story. It was a casual team dinner, nothing more. Max's team is probably already handling it."

Max.

As if on cue, another message flashes across your screen.

Unknown It's Max

Unknown Don't look at twitter

Too late.

By the time you get to the paddock, the damage is done. Journalists are already circling, cameras flashing whenever you so much as breathe near Max's side of the garage. You stick next to Liam's car. You don't know what you're doing there, but he kind of does and pretends to talk with you about something he doesn't understand either. Good lad.

You keep your head down, pretending not to notice the murmurs. When you step into the engineering office, Max is already waiting.

He's scrolling through his phone. You can't see anything behind those startling blue-green eyes of his. You still can't when he looks up. "They're making a big deal out of nothing."

You exhale. "I'm trending on Twitter."

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "And?"

You blink. "And? Do you know what people are saying? That I'm-” You lower your voice. “That I'm sleeping with you for my job. That you’re-”

"Using you to fix the car?" His lips press together. Now his eyes darken, the sky before the storm. "Bullshit. Do they not know how engineers work? They fix the car anyway."

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter if it's bullshit. It's out there."

Max crosses his arms. "So?"

"So?" you echo, incredulous. "I don't want this. I don't want my name attached to you like I'm some stupid tabloid headline!"

He seems to read you. "Do you think I wanted it either? I just wanted dinner. I wanted to talk to you, convince you not to leave. Not...this."

Your anger deflates. You can't be mad at him. People are people.

Max pushes off the desk and steps closer. "Tell you what. If you want, I'll shut it down. Tell them all it's nothing, that it was just a stupid meal. That you mean nothing to me."

The words sting even though you know he doesn’t mean them.

You swallow hard. "Would you?"

His jaw tightens. "If that’s what you want."

You should say yes. You should. But he's the one waiting for you to make a choice-the choice-and you're frozen.

"I don't know," you whisper.

Is that relief you see on his face?

"Then we don't say anything."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The orange army has risen, and it's not McLaren's. The checkered flag waves, and above the screaming engines and the crackling of team radios, one thing is clear: Max Verstappen has won again.

Against the odds, against the struggles, against a car that has fought him all season, he has done what Max Verstappen does best.

He has won.

The Red Bull garage erupts. Engineers shout, mechanics throw their arms around each other, and the pit wall slams their hands down in victory. You barely register the chaos because your eyes are glued to the screens, watching as Max slows down on his cool-down lap, his voice breaking through the radio.

"YES, LET'S GO!" His laugh is breathless. "That was so, so good. Thank you, guys. Thank you."

You exhale. He did it. You don't even recognize the warm feeling going through you because suddenly, he's there.

Before you can even process it, Max is sprinting toward the garage, helmet ripped off, his fireproofs half-unzipped and clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing-shouldn't he be out there?-as he skids next to you.

Your heart lurches.

You don't even have time to move before he reaches you, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you in.

"Max-" Your protest dies in your throat because holy shit he's so close. His breath is warm against your skin, adrenaline pouring off him in waves.

"You," he pants, eyes wild and utterly alive. "You made that happen."

You shake your head, flustered beyond belief. "Max, you-"

But he cuts you off, hands tightening like he's afraid you'll slip away. "No. You fought for this car. You never stopped." He swallows, chest rising and falling. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

You feel every nerve in your body short-circuiting.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Just static.

Max searches your face. He looks at you as he does his father, after a race is over. Like this win doesn't mean as much if you aren't part of it. There is one person in the world he cares about making happy...might there be a second?

You’re completely, utterly speechless.

"Lost for words?" he teases.

You shove at his chest, but your laughter betrays you. "Shut up, Verstappen."

You untangle yourself from his grasp and motion for him to greet some other of the team members. The media must be having a field day. And after the entire PR talk, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The celebrations are still in full swing when Max is pulled into an interview. The champagne drips from his hair as a permanent grin is stretched across his face. He's still breathless, still buzzing, still high off the win.

The reporter from Sky Sports barely has to ask the first question before Max is already talking.

"Max, that was an incredible drive. How does it feel to take this victory after the struggles you’ve had with the car?"

Max laughs easily. "Yeah, it wasn't easy. The car still isn't perfect, but today, it worked. And that's not just me, that's the team, that's the people who keep pushing-"

His words cut off for a second, his mind catching up to his own excitement. His tongue is loose, his filter nonexistent.

And then-

"-that's her."

The interviewer blinks. "Who?"

Max doesn't hesitate. "My engineer."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your stomach drops as you watch from the back of the garage, eyes wide as the cameras zoom in on him. He's still grinning, still glowing, and either he doesn't realize what he just said or he does not care.

"She-" he stops himself, shaking his head like he can't find the right words. "She works harder than anyone. Every problem with this car, she's been on it. I mean, I was nowhere at the start of the season, and now, we're here. If anyone deserves credit, it's her."

The reporter raises an eyebrow. "That's very high praise. Would you say she's been a crucial part of your season?"

Max tips his head back in his laughter, and it's so obvious now, the way he's still running on instinct, how he's still in the moment.

"She's been-" He stops, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. And then, softer-too soft for someone who's just talking about an engineer-he finishes:

"She's everything."

The interviewer's eyes widen slightly, and there’s a second-just a second-where you see the exact moment he realizes what he just let slip. Max's lips press together, like maybe if he stops talking now, the words will somehow erase themselves. But the damage is already done.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Max turns his head like he can see you in the garage. He's searching, looking for you.

You panic. You run.

But the world has already heard him. You're not just another engineer.

You're Max Verstappen's everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The second you step back into the Red Bull garage, cheeks flushed from your bathroom pacing and breakdown, you know you're screwed.

The looks. The whispers. The way people pretend not to be staring but are absolutely staring. Because, of course, everyone saw the interview.

The moment Max Verstappen, three-time world champion, winner of the race, decided to open his mouth and say-

"She's everything."

You could kill him.

Scratch that. You will kill him.

Your heart is still hammering from the moment you heard it, from the way he looked for you afterward, like he wasn't even the slightest bit embarrassed about saying something that made it sound like-like-you don't even know what it sounded like, but it was definitely not normal driver-engineer talk.

And now, here you are, trying to avoid eye contact with every single person in the garage while searching for the idiot responsible.

It doesn't take long.

Max, being Max, doesn't bother hiding. He's standing by the monitors, still in his fireproofs, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely unbothered. He should be celebrating. Why is he not out celebrating?

He's still waiting for you.

The moment he sees you, his expression shifts. Something smug, something amused, something that makes you want to strangle him.

You grab his arm and yank him into the nearest private space you can find.

"Max," you hiss, barely able to contain yourself. "What the hell was that?"

His brows furrow. "What?"

"What?" you repeat. "You-on live television-you called me everything."

Max blinks, looking so utterly relaxed that you want to shake him. "Yeah."

You stare at him, waiting for him to realize the problem, to acknowledge that he just threw you to the media wolves with zero warning.

Nothing. Just calm, slightly confused Max Verstappen.

"You do realize what that sounded like, right?" You press, feeling your face heat up. "Everyone's losing their minds. Twitter is exploding. Horner gave me a look. Do you know how scary it is when Christian Horner gives you a look?"

Max’s lips twitch. He's fighting a smirk and he's not winning. "I mean… was I wrong?"

"What?"

He tilts his head, like he's considering his words. "You are everything. To this team. To the car. To-" He stops himself, but it’s already too late.

He knows exactly what he said.

"Max-"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

You can't, because he isn't. Maybe you've known it all along. Maybe this is why you can't leave the stupid team, even though it's causing hair loss and severe lack of sleep.

So you don't. Instead, you grab him by the collar and pull him down. Max lets out the softest, most relieved exhale before he crashes into you.

It's not a soft kiss. It's not careful, or hesitant, or anything close to restrained. It's desperate. It's months of tension snapping all at once.

You make a soft noise-half surprise, half something else entirely-and that's all it takes.

Max groans, deep and low, like he's wanted this for as long as you have, and suddenly it's worse, because now he's tilting his head, deepening the kiss, pressing you back until you hit the nearest surface.

You don't even know where you are anymore. A storage closet? A backroom? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is him. The way he tastes like champagne and adrenaline, the way he kisses like he races. All-consuming and with only one thing on his mind.

You should stop. You know you should stop. The entire garage is just outside. Someone will notice. Someone will hear.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly, and Max shudders.

"Fuck," he mutters against your lips, utterly wrecked. His eyelids flutter, long lashes too. Max runs a finger down to your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're overthinking again."

He's completely right. But you don't stop then. You relax and just let Max Verstappen take over every single thought in your mind.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: i just need a man who's bad at emotions but also so good at them

[tiramissyoucake]

Can I request a scenario where Mohawk Mark and Girly reader first met each other, like he's the school's bad boy and no one mess with him since he's basically crazy.

Reader was maybe getting hit on and cornered into a wall or being followed then bump into mohawk mark and ask for his help, then he did. Which ends with the results of reader following him everywhere and over sharing to the the point they started dating.

Getting in trouble together, having quickies in the most unlikely places and sleeping naked together even though they didn't do anything before that, they're just enjoying each other's company

I love this idea so much. Mohawk Mark x girly reader you will always be loved.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: semi-public? Piv, fem reader (girly/Bimbo coded), corny ass flight confession thing, stripping after fucking, not proof read

.

When Mark's powers started coming in slowly but surely, he immediately thought of all the things he could do for his own satisfaction. A few days after getting them, at school, he punched a student so badly he was suspended for a week, he saw it as a vacation.

When he came back, the student he punched had a patch on where he got hit and everyone steered clear from Mark with uneasy eyes or judgemental glances followed by whispering, (except William, but William already barely talked to him now.) He didn't care, he was a God among men now, he learned to pull his punches, he had a feeling killing a student with a singular punch would be more trouble than it's worth.

He talked back to teachers, harshly bumped into whoever was in his way and glared back twice as hard to anyone who had the gall to look at him, he was untouchable so why should he care about what anyone else thinks? He doesn't mind suspension if it means scaring these losers into knowing who's stronger.

His appearance was enough as is, he was certain he was the only student with a mohawk. He fumbled with his locker, the weight of the books growing more irritating as he finally got it open, tossing whatever he didn't need inside, he heard speaking next to him- not the usual shit talk some gossip fiends would jabber about, he heard arguing.

"Can you back off?! I have a class to get to!"

"Just ditch with me! Who cares about class?"

"I do, dumbass! That's the whole point of school?!"

Following the noise, he immediately saw you, your annoyed expression didn't match the adorable appearance. Pretty glossy lips, styled hair, a bag with too many charms and keychains. You were fending off a guy who was getting a bit too close, even for him. Some no-name jock who he was sure had less personality than he had brains which was already low.

"Don't touch me!" You jerked your shoulder out of his hand with a glare. "What, now you're too good for me?"

Okay, this was embarrassing. Mark rolled his eyes before slamming his locker shut, approaching the bickering.

"She's not interested, dickhead." He started, taking your side. "Why don't you fuck off before I make you?"

The guy scoffed, sure he was more muscular but he didn't have half-viltrumite genetics. "What're you gonna do? Think you're some kinda hero?"

He didn't wait for anymore incentive, his fist flying immediately into his jaw- granted he had to hold back *a lot* of momentum he picked up in his swing, you gasped, the jerk staggered and held his jaw and stared in shock.

"Yeah that's what I thought, pussy." Mark grinned, his fist unaffected as he turned to you- you looked starstruck. "What do you for first period?"

It took you a moment to find your voice, stuttering. "Uh— history..?"

Huh. So did he. "Come on." He grabbed your arm and tugged you along, you followed with no protests. Mark was surprised at how obedient you were being given you were arguing with the dumbfounded idiot back there like hell, a small smirk came onto his face- maybe you were terrified of him like everyone else.

He stopped once he reached the correct room, letting go of your arm to open the door, he turned to you to say some cool goodbye he'd been practicing but paused.

You practically had hearts in your eyes as you stared at him, restraining a smile. "I didn't get to thank you for helping me back there!" Your friendly tone was a welcome change from the earlier hostility. "I'm (Name), you're Mark, right?"

"... how'd you know?"

"Duh? Everyone knows you! You're the guy that punched a guy." Yeah, that was about right. "I didn't know you were such a Knight in shining armor, though!"

He scoffed, almost offended at that. "Hell no, he was just pissing me off. You just happened to be there."

"Whatever you say~"

It started from there, in that history class, you sat next to him and kept trying to pass notes, to which he crumpled and tossed aside. You chalked it up to the tough guy persona he was trying to uphold because why else would he repeatedly glance at you?

You walked with him to his classes and monologued since he barely responded to make it a conversation. "-but I dunno, like sometimes I wanna go for the messy hair look but I can't leave my house without styling it! What do you think? I mean I like your mohawk, like rarely any guys can pull off a mohawk-"

Details he didn't care about were being retained in his head, and he prayed to God you'd leave him alone during lunch, maybe you had your own bimbo friends to talk to so he could get some peace and quiet.

All hopes of that were thrown out the window as he saw your tray land on the table he occupied, you sat down and smiled like he was the best thing in the world. "Hey, you!"

He dropped the plastic fork, sighing. "Fine. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" You responded so cluelessly as you brought out a compact mirror from your bag.

"You've been following me around like a damn dog since this morning." You pissed him off, how could you worry about if you had enough glitter on your face at a moment like this. "What the fuck do you want?"

You scoffed, like he was stupid. "Uh, because I like you? And wanna get to know you? I know you have a pretty... yikes. Reputation. But I don't care, earlier this year they spread rumors that I slept with everyone on the football team." You leaned closer, grinning. "I wouldn't touch any of those losers with a ten foot pole."

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, he didn't trust you fully but you weren't exactly a nuisance. He shrugged. "Suit yourself, princess."

The gasp you let out scared him into dropping his fork again. "'Princess'?! We're on a nickname basis now?! Omg, okay! I'll call you Marky!"

"Don't." He gritted, that made him sound like a boy toy, he hoped his scowl brought your attention away from his reddening cheeks.

.

He hated admitting his parents were right, but he knew why keeping the powers thing a secret was important, he didn't want government losers trying to recruit him for corny hero work or get civilians talking, but he figured you wouldn't be a problem and shockingly, you weren't. The first thing you asked him was if he was like 'real life superman'.

Sneaking into your painfully adorable bedroom, he ignored all your questions of "how'd you get in?!" And "what's wrong?", holding your wrist.

"C'mon, I gotta show you something." You got up from your bed, magazines discarded as he tugged you closer to the window. "Hold on! Mark, my parents are gonna kill me!"

He rolled his eyes, one leg already out the window. "They won't know, trust me. C'mere."

He pulled you closely, chest to chest as he guided you out the window. One moment, your feet were on the windowsill, and the next he's soaring through the sky with you held tightly in his arms.

"If you drop me, I swear I'll kill you!!" You yelled as you clung to his shirt, Mark grinned and propped you up.

"Uh oh, my hands slipping!" His little jab made you yell and cling to him harder, he almost went crazy feeling you hide your face in his neck and tighten your hands' grip on him. "MARK!! THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

He couldn't help laughing, you were adorable enough as is, seeing you huddle up to him in his arms in the sky was a sight to see. At this point, he hovered and went at a decent pace over town, watching your expression. "What'd I tell you? Worth it or not?"

"Everything looks so pretty from up here.." You mumbled while glancing around, looking up at him. "Taking me out for a romantic flight, what's next? Are you gonna confess to me?" Your smile gave him the message that you'd hoped he would.

"Yeah? And if I was?" He leaned in, a grin on his lips, truth be told, after accepting your presence as a reoccurring thing in his life he found himself liking you more and more, following him around like a lovesick stalker. (it helped that he thought you were hot as hell too)

"I'd be real happy if you did?" You hummed, a blush dusting your cheeks. "You already know that I really like you, Marky."

That stupid nickname he came to accept, you were gonna be the death of him. "I like you too, princess. I really really like you." He repeated as he leaned closer, tightening his grip on you.

Pressing his lips to yours, you had a feeling the first kiss wouldn't be innocent, and you were right. A groan escaped him as if to silently say "finally", it was messy, biting your bottom lip, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss further and tilting his head when you parted your lips for him, if only he did this in your room so he could properly kiss you until your lips were bruised.

the scenery itself made him want to roll his eyes, your Mark holding you in the air in the nightsky- hovering over the town like he was some cheesy comic book hero with a damsel; as corny as it was, it was perfect.

.

You kept in contact after getting accepted into college while he didn't make the effort to even apply. How could you not? Every time you'd see that stupid mohawk in the distance, you'd get so excited you could burst. Mark still had his methods of sneaking in your dorm and whisking you away to God knows where.

A house party hosted by someone you both don't know, a club that was way too exclusive, a festival with everyone bringing their own spread blankets for some show, that one was your favourite; your deviant of a boyfriend found a secluded corner near the woods you could set up your blanket at and he wasted no time having you all to himself.

"Be quiet you— mmff..!" He hissed, his hands grabbing your hips to guide your movement, his dick buried inside you under the skirt he thanked god you decided to wear, perfect for tugging your panties off and having his way. "Fuck, just like that..."

Your whimpers and moans drove him insane but he didn't want any festival goers to find you two like this, you bouncing on his cock with his pants tugged halfway down, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "C-can't, Marky..! So good...!"

Mark let out a breathless laugh, bucking his hips up to you. "C'mere- kiss me." You obeyed, you always did. Lips parted as yours slotted against his own, his tongue invading your mouth almost instantly to swallow any of your adorable moans, he groaned as his hand came down to spank you briefly, a short but strong swing that stung in the best way and made you yelp into his mouth.

"You like that?" He grinned, mischievous and filthy. "Such a good slut for me- mmh, mine, right?" You nodded rapidly, that didn't seem good enough as he spanked you again to ellicit a response. "Ah! Yes! Yours..! Only yours..! Mark!!"

He noted your pace, humming. "As much as I love seeing you hop on my cock, bunny." He sat up, flipping you over and shoving you back down to the blanket he chuckled at your shocked noise. "I wanna fuck you proper."

His hips pistoned against yours, a devastating pace as he panted and grunted over your moans, his hands intertwining with yours. "Yes, fuck- take it, that's a good princess.." he huffed, your legs locking around his waist.

And that wasn't the end of it, as if fucking you like it was your last time meeting wasn't enough, back at your dorm he pinned you back to your bed and threw your clothes off for round two. It must've been Viltrumite stamina or something because he couldn't get enough of you, or maybe he was just that obsessed with you.

He stilled with a loud groan as a stuttered moan escaped you, his hips grinding against you as he pumped you full. "Yes, yes, yes. Fuuhuuuuck...!" Mark almost drooled out as your pussy hugged his cock closely.

"God— I love you, Markyyy..." You extended the nickname, a blissed out expression on your face as he came closer, licking his lips. "I love you too, you're so fuckin' cute..." a satisfied moan escaped him as he kissed you, your hand cupping his cheek gently as you reciprocated happily.

"Mmm... gotta go soon.." he begrudgingly reminded you, to which you whined and clung to him. "Nooooooo..!"

"Baby, come on. You know you'll get in trouble if anyone finds me here." He remembered your college's harsh guidelines on 'uninvited guests' in the dorm, that didn't stop you from insisting. "God, they won't know! Don't worry!"

He rolled his eyes affectionately at you as he settled next to you. "Okay, okay! Just gimme a sec to take this shit off.." he threw aside whatever remaining clothes he had on, a pile forming in the corner as he tossed aside the articles of clothing one by one. "You took, off. Now."

A giggle escaped you as he started to remove your clothes, almost too playfully as he coaxed you. "What's funny? C'mon! You gonna let me be the only naked freak here?"

Sweat had coated your bodies from the rush at the festival and running back, so peeling off whatever remaining clothes was a huge relief. Laying back in the small bed, the size wasn't an issue as you two shuffled closer, skin to skin.

"You comfy?" His arm wrapped around you while the other propped up his head up on your pillow, you let out a happy hum, kissing his cheek. "Uh-huh, you better not leave before I wake up in the morning!"

"Oh, baby I wouldn't dream of it." Mark grinned, holding you possessively.

He wasn't ideal, he wasn't someone who would encourage you to be your best, you knew these late outings and rendezvous that ended up with him naked in your bed wouldn't end well, but the two of you didn't care, you were perfect for each other and that's all that mattered.

[sarcasticsparkles]

This brings me psychic damage in ways I could not possibly hope to describe. There are no words to properly convey the sheer frustration, so I am going to explain this from a perspective on the consequences of this.

My parents and I are my younger sister's English teachers.

The reason? Because her school developed such a problem with students using ChatGPT that they taught accordingly, in that they didn't teach at all. The rare time there was an attempt to properly teach, most students had no ability to think critically to the point being in a room with them was actively endangering the neurons of everyone around them. We needed to pull my sister out of English class because she simply was not learning despite her best efforts.

Being a teacher is not my field, but I have been writing since I was a preteen, and I am now an adult woman. Teaching a teenager to engage with media critically and write essays is not an easy task. The only thing maintaining my sanity is knowing my sister is a good kid and I've never had an issue of ChatGPT with her. But it has brought forward an interesting question a lot of students are faced with:

Why bother? What is the point of trying when the class moron with the broccoli hair and a singular braincell bouncing around in his head like a windows screensaver could get the same grade with the click of a button?

Removing my sister from a class of her peers was monumental in removing this argument, but not every student has family willing or able to aid them. It's a fascinating discussion and a depressing one.

When I was in school, there was an art to violating academic integrity. Some skill had to be learned to guarantee not being caught. There were obviously kids stupid enough to plagiarize an entire essay often from the first result on the first page of google. Or my favorite example of my classmate googling the answers to our trade school final exam on the school tablet, during the exam, with the google typing sound loudly on for all to hear. But the existence of those students was rarely harming anyone. If the assignment they cheated on was important to their future, they only harmed themselves, and if it was useless busywork, it's a victimless crime.

Furthermore, I've asked people what assignments they would cheat on, if any. Some people admitted to cheating on tests and such, as expected, but a lot of it was in situations where a teacher refused to respect their time. Meaningless busywork, designed for nothing more than to guarantee the student didn't sleep or have a life outside of school. If a teacher won't respect the students, why respect them by actually doing the pointless assignment?

(I need to clarify cheating on busywork means assignments like a math teacher giving a 26 question assignment each with multiple lettered sub-questions, none of which is going to appear on the test, and refusing to let students use a calculator. The type of assignment that in a creative setting would simply mean half-assing it.)

ChatGPT has not just blurred but outright decimated the line in the sand on what is busywork and what are assignments meant to help further the learning. Every assignment feels meaningless when it's common knowledge half the class spent 30 seconds on the work, if that. Every minute working on that important essay feels like time that could be spent on better things, and the question is raised why the teacher ever assigned it.

Why should a student waste hours of their time for something they know will mean nothing, and did mean nothing to so many who will get the same result as their hard work?

All ChatGPT has done is reduce critical thinking and writing ability on a massive scale, and destroy morale to create at all. There is something to be said in the context of the education system about failings that cause every aspect of learning to feel pointless in relation to the real world, but that has always been a problem, just as cheating has always been a problem. ChatGPT is a new ball game, and its effect on anyone it touches, even if indirectly, are catastrophic.

As a tidbit for any teacher or parent who may see this, the best way to confirm if ChatGPT was used in instances they don't accidentally leave in the "this was made by ChatGPT" blip is to ask the student to define the words in their essay. More often than not, they cannot pronounce or spell the word without a computer, let alone define it.

[bjwmastermind-writes]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[chaostudee]

max verstappen

summary : you are lando norris's younger sister and when you show up to the paddock to support him a certain driver for red bull falls for you. faceclaim : anna astrup warnings : language, suggestive content a/n : obsessed with this smmm <33

y/nusername happiest of birthdays to you baby brother ❤️

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, charlesleclerc and 1,292,671 others.

landonorris i do not appreciate you publicly humiliating me like this

y/nusername ;)

user72 thank you y/n for giving us new lando pics !!

username12 im peeing at the last photo

f1fan no because wdym lando is 27?!?!

user123 no cause real istg he was like 20 yesterday tf

username89 my shaylah oooh my shaylah

user00 im scared

f1lover shdjdhdueb

user12 if my sibling ever embarrassed me like this i would acc like sob

user12 not lando with his 'putting up the middle finger' obsession 😭

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername on my way ✈️

liked by landonorris, kikagomes, lilymunihe and 372,992 others.

landonorris can't waitttt

user72 omggg y/n better come to the gp

username55 oh i just know she will eat her fits up

f1girl omggg her and alex better meet up !!

user35 girl how tf do u look this good on a plane i could neverrr

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername monaco ily

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, kikagomes, victoriaverstappen and 482,027 others.

user72 chat....is that....who i think it is

f1fan ik that side profile

user62 girl whattt we need the tea now

victoriaverstappen so so beautiful

f1girl f1 twitter is going crazyyyy

user62 imagine soft launching THE max verstappen

f1lover frrrr im so jelly

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername guess i'm a redbull girl now

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, sergioperez and 724,729 others.

f1fan me because i can never decided which team to support

user72 crying because why is this the most relatable thing i've seen all day

user82 okay girl i see u

f1lover omggg pls tell me you're a max fan

user6 ive never wanted to be someone more

f1girl okay her and max are defo dating

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername alexa play winter things by ariana grande !

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 371,610 others.

user62 max in the likes.....

f1fan ugh y/n's music taste is on top

username11 so aesthetic omggg

f1girl wait guys i swear max is gone skiing this weekend holy shit maybe they're together

user00 oh girl....u are delulu as fuckkk 💀

landonorris a little bit of credit would be nice

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername hehe

》 um what hard launch?!?!

》 DUDE

》 omgggg girl what

》 makes sense

》 max gets it

》 how does lando feel about this

》 isnt y/n like 22???

》 wait cause this is lowkey kinda crazy

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen my sweet girl

liked by y/nusername, landonorris, checoperez and 1,728,927 others.

landonorris cant lie this is weird asf but im happy for you both 💛

user82 awwww

username8199 chat this is acc so crazy

f1girl i loveeee

user00 savannah slow down-

charlesleclerc bro got rizz

oscarpiastri 😭😭

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername guess who's backkk 🤭🏁

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 528,928 others.

landonorris not happy with this 🥲

y/nusername redbull is better

user72 yesssss y/n gets it

user92 DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

user62 redbull queen

f1fan y/n's a real one

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername 🌸

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 712,991 others.

user72 omds i love them both sm i cant

f1fan body is tea

username22 y/n is just living that life

f1fan4eva holy shitt is that a charli xcx reference🙈

username111 max's bicepsss ugh yes godd

f1girl omgg where did she get thar bikini im so obsessed

f1lover so so gorge omg girl teach me your ways

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

landonorris some quality time with big sis

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri, yukitsunoda and 1,628,028 others.

user72 best sibling duo

f1fan im sry this summer break has felt like an ageeee i just want the cars back on track :,(

username55 comeback on lando.jpg 👀

user00 omggg plss

y/nusername ngl u lowkey ateee

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen and 527,310 others.

user82 nortrell forever ❤️

username82 y/n is so stunning omg

f1fan where is max??

y/nusername he's with his family

user728 did they break up 👀👀

f1girl omgg pls she doesnt have to post with him 24/7 to make u believe that they didnt break up

user00 fit devoured

f1lover ugh to be max

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen back at it 💪

liked by victoriaverstappen, nicohulkenberg, danielriccardo and 2,726,292 others.

user773 um where tf is y/n

f1fan oh they defo broke up.....she didnt even like it

user11 okay but it is hella weird that both lando and y/n are not in the likes

anon babes i fear it is not that deep

user00 ugh not all the fangirls in the comments

username13 omdss can we pls just seperate personal life from sport plsss

user236 max dominated this week

username666 frrr i know my goat 🐐

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername life recently 💞

*replies have been turned off*

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

messages between max and lando

dude did u propose to y/n lando

shit yeah yeah i did..... max

im sry if you're pissed but i asked your dad and he was chill and like i'm in love with her and i want to spend the rest of my life with her max

im not mad max 😭😭 lando

you're not....... max

well i mean a little lando

mad that i wasn't in on the proposal lowkey lol lando

ah it was a kind of private thing max

its chill man just dont hurt her lando

never max

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen i promise i will love you forever

liked by landonorris, y/nusername, charlesleclerc and 3,929,772 others.

landonorris i will kill u if u dare hurt her 😈

user72 damn username88 yesss love me a man who stands on business f1fan im sry the emoji 💀 user72 that damn smirk

y/nusername this is just the start of forever <3

user62 sobbing.

f1girl this is my royal family

username72 omggg y/n verstappen

f1fan oh im counting down the days to this wedding fr

charlesleclerc bravo !!

taglist⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn @sweetestgirlintown111 @mxryxmfooty @hadidsworld @llando4norris @heavy-vettel @love2readd @depressedriches @nichmeddar @seonghwaexile

[brenwritesss]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

⋆˚࿔Paige Bueckers x reader ❀˖°

Summary: You were done with Paige, but she keeps pulling you back in.

Warnings: smut

a/n: long-awaited part 3 is officially here. so sorry about that long wait

part 1 | part 2

paigebueckers started following you.

paigebueckers sent you a message.

I shouldn’t have said that.

The time of the message read 3:05 AM and even though it had been a restless few nights for you after the catastrophe at the bar, you tried your best to forget Paige’s existence and move on. But of course, Paige couldn’t help herself and she had to find any possible way to weave herself back into your life. And it started with her unblocking and messaging you to reel you back in.

You keep the message open, seeing that she’s active but close out of it when you decide that she’s not worth trying to get back. Out of sight out of mind right?

So you left her on read, a closing to that part of your life that you wanted to so desperately crawl back to but you couldn’t do that to yourself. Again. 

And that was how it started. These little things that Paige would do to reel you in and you wondered how she felt when she realized it wasn’t working. First it was the Instagram message, then it was hanging out with you and Azzi; although that didn’t last long when you would just leave, leaving Paige to deal with Azzi’s questions. Then she started “coincidentally” walking past your communications class when you would be leaving. Then it was liking your Instagram posts. 

She was trying to get to you and you weren’t going to let that happen again, no matter how hard she tried. 

Kathrine huffed as she sat up in your bed, watching you at your desk. “Are you seriously still mad at me?”

You don’t say anything and continue studying.

“Y/n, it’s Paige Bueckers. Who wouldn’t make out with her? I know you would.” The tone in her voice was condescending almost, as if you were some idiot she was lecturing.

You turn to her, looking her dead in the eyes. “You want to go make out with Paige, then go make out with her and shut the door on your way out.”

Kathrine’s eyes widen at you, earning you a scoff from her. She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Why the hell are you so bothered by it anyway? We’re not fucking dating so I can make out with whoever I want.”

You close your eyes, trying to fight the anger rising in your chest. “It’s not about you.” You say it so quietly, she can barely hear you.

“Speak up.”

“I said it’s not fucking about you,” you shout, louder than you had intended too.

“Then what is it?” Kathrine’s voice echoed throughout your room.

You slam your pen down on your desk, standing up from your seat and rubbing your hands on your face. Kathrine jumps at the sudden outburst, not knowing what you would do next. You had many options: kick her out, scream, tell her that Paige was your ex, pull her into your own heated make out session. But even now in your own dorm, Paige haunted your mind. So much to the point that you couldn’t even think of a good enough response to make up for the fact that you were letting this get to you this easily.

You take a deep breath, letting your hands fall from your face as you sit down on the bed beside her. “Sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out. It’s probably just midterms.”

Kathrine, weirded out and probably uncomfortable, shuffles away from you and grabs her stuff. “Yeah well you need to figure your shit out.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Kathrine stands up from the bed, moving towards your door. “I signed up for good fucking sex and the occasional cuddles in bed. Not,” she pauses, signaling to the space around you. “Whatever you have going on or whatever this is.”

You let out a laugh. “Believe me, I’m still looking for that good fucking sex.”

Kathrine’s eyes are practically bulging out of her head at this point. “Paige probably fucks better than you anyway.”

“Yeah good luck with that.” You stand up and open the door for her, waiting for her to walk out.

“Good luck?” She asks, not believing the scene before her.

“You’re not her type.”

Paigebueckers liked your post.

“Damnit,” you curse as the notification causes you to accidentally drop your glass cup in the sink. “Fuck.” You stare at the broken shards of glass in your sink. Even through Instagram she could still get to you and that was scary. How could a high school relationship fuck you up this bad? You didn’t think it would until you saw her the first time since. 

Paige never did anything specific to cause you to break up with her. In fact, throughout the entire relationship she was perfect and that made it a million times worse when you had to break up with her. You had been told by everyone that a high school relationship wouldn’t last in college and maybe breaking up with her was the right decision. Or maybe it wasn’t and this was you suffering the consequences.

“What the fuck happened?” Azzi asks, walking into your dorm which causes you to jump.

“God, Azzi what the fuck?” You place your hand on your chest, trying to catch your breath and she laughs as she walks over to peer over the sink.

She points to the glass. “You should really clean this up.”

You roll your eyes at her and give her shoulder a quick shove. “What are you doing here?”

Azzi holds up a paper bag with the Chick-Fil-A logo on it and you immediately broke into a smile which Azzi returns. “Figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“You’re the best.”

Azzi sets the bag down on your bed and sits down, wrapping herself in your covers and taking a bite out of a waffle fry. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

“Shut up,” you mutter as you get in bed beside her. Azzi is already holding the fries towards you which you gladly take while you grab some buffalo sauce. Moments like these with Azzi were some you treasured deeply, not wanting to lose these little times that you could see her and be yourself around her. And all of that reminded you why you needed to stay away from Paige in the first place.

“She’s sorry y’know,” Azzi says quietly with her mouth stuffed with chicken nuggets.

Those words alone cause you to stop chewing and turn your head towards her. “What?”

“She told me about what happened at the bar and even though I don’t want whatever happened between you happening again, she is sorry for saying what she said.”

You looked into Azzi’s eyes which were sincere and that made you feel bad. Not because you felt bad for Paige but because you were unintentionally dragging Azzi into this whole mess which you were trying to forget.

“It’s whatever, I don’t care,” you say back, shrugging. “She’s entitled to her own opinion.”

“You’re not a bitch, Y/n.”

You turn away from her because deep down you knew Paige was right. You may not have been a bitch to everyone but you definitely had your moments. Especially with Paige and that made you feel even worse than you already did. Wrapping your comforter tighter around your body, you let yourself sink into your mattress. “Maybe not to you.”

Azzi moved closer to you, moving the food and wrapping her arm around you. “What Paige said was just her being angry for no fucking reason that didn’t have anything to do with you. Her words don’t make up the type of person you are which are none of the things she mentioned.”

“I’m just over her bullshit.”

You show up to class a week later, books in hand as you slide into your seat and placing them neatly on your desk. Fishing a pen out of your backpack, you sigh as you prepare yourself for another boring lecture. Your professor begins the class with the usual procedure: attendance, short quiz, and then note-taking. All of which you do complete easily as someone comes to sit in the open seat beside you. You pay no attention to it, too focused on writing down your notes when they speak, “is this seat taken?”

“No, it’s–” you turn your head to see Paige staring right at you. “Not.”

“Great,” she smiles as she puts her backpack down. “So, what are we learning today?”

“Listen and find out for your fucking self,” you whisper as you go back to taking notes, not before moving your chair farther away from her.

Paige, who is looking at you like you were the craziest person on the planet, slides her hand over to your notebook, bringing towards her and giving it a look. “You always had pretty handwriting.”

You look at her dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

Paige smirks at you. “Very serious.”

You pull your notebook back to you. “I thought I was too much of a bitch to be around.”

Paige’s shoulders fall, her playful expression falling with it. She leans towards you, “I said I was sorry about that. I didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you mean. If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t say it.” You go back to taking your notes. “And besides, we got a promise to keep for Azzi. So let’s honor that please.”

“Right because now you suddenly care about that promise.” You hated how hot her voice was. How hot she was just sitting there right next to you. How close she was just like that night at the bar.

You scoff, “you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“No,” she rebutted. “I said I didn’t want you meddling in on my love life. Why can’t we be friends?”

Her sudden change in demeanor from when she was screaming at you outside of the bar compared to now made you turn your head enough to where you could almost get whiplash. “You should have said that maybe like two or three weeks ago. Or I don’t know,” you pause, pretending to think. “Maybe a damn month ago.”

“But I want to now, ma.” The use of the pet name made you freeze on the spot, dropping your pen and by the way you felt, you just knew that your cheeks were red as fuck. And by the look on her own face, you knew she was enjoying your reaction. “Just like old times.”

“Go suck up to one of the bitches you fuck,” you spit out, putting your books away and getting up from your chair without another word. 

“Y/n–” Paige began but you couldn’t hear the end of her sentence because you were already out the door. Not only did you have a promise to keep to Azzi but also a promise to keep to yourself: don’t let Paige into your life again.

You don’t know exactly how you ended up here yet there you were, standing in the crowded kitchen of a frat house trying to fish through the cooler to look for a drink. Another party you let Azzi drag you to and each time she did, you regretted it deeply. While frat parties were the final boss of college partying, the one thing you hated the most about these parties were the awful tastes in music these guys had with TikTok music just circulating throughout the speakers. It also didn’t help that you were wearing a tight and short black dress that made every guy at this party look your way. And that made you feel disgusted.

And with your luck, Azzi left you to go find some girls from the team, leaving you in the kitchen to fend for yourself. You find a can of Coke in the cooler which looked like the best decision compared to the other drinks that were available. You lean back up, opening your can and taking a sip, letting the carbonation hit the back of your throat.

“Enjoying the party?” Kathrine whispers behind you, pressing her body against your back. Your breath hitches and your fingers curl the can in your grasp. Kathrine can sense you being on edge so she slowly glides her hand up your waist, trying to elicit some sort of response that was something other than being guarded.

“Not my scene,” you say quietly, trying to let yourself relax in her grasp.

“We can always change that,” she pauses, spinning you around so that you’re now facing her and her fingers are tangled in the black fabric of your dress. “I always liked you in black.”

You look into her eyes, “I thought you preferred nothing at all.”

Kathrine’s eyes lowered themselves onto you as she spoke, “I thought that was a given.”

Trying to get your mind off of Paige was something you were used to and even though you were never actually into Kathrine, she provided a good distraction. Maybe it was the party getting to you but there was something about getting with the same girl that you found Paige making out with weeks ago made it seem almost fun.

You instinctively grab Kathrine’s hand as you drag her to a wall just a few feet away, pushing her up against it. She immediately responds to you, grabbing at your face as she brings your lips together. It was heated and fierce, both of you trying to fight for dominance as Kathrine wasted no time in shoving her tongue down your throat. The two of you could both tell that this wasn’t anything more than all of your meaningless hookups had been. Meaningless. That night in the locker room with Paige was never supposed to be meaningless.

And fuck, now you were thinking about her when you’re making out with someone else.

Kathrine spins around, catching you against the wall as your hands become tangled in her mess of blonde hair. Her skin was warm compared to your cool fingertips and her lips were soft like they always had been. 

Kathrine’s mouth wanders down your jaw, causing you to let out a short gasp that only the two of you can hear through all of the loud music. Her mouth wandered down farther to the crook of your neck and you braced your hands against her shoulders trying to steady yourself as she sucked and nipped at your neck.

You open your eyes for the first time, watching Kathrine’s head bob down as she continued to kiss along your collarbone and damn did that make you horny. It became worse when you look across the room and notice those familiar blue eyes staring you down. And that stare created a pool between your legs. 

Paige had been watching you and Kathrine the whole time with a bottle of beer in her hand. The way she looked at you was a mix of a glare and disbelief as if you had just seen straight through her. For the first time in a while, she looked hurt and you were the reason why. You let your hands drop from Kathrine and you pull her head up from your neck which causes her to look at you with confusion.

“Is something wrong?” she asks you with swollen lips and partly out of breath.

You look away from Paige and towards Kathrine, giving her a slight head shake. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

Before you can say anything else, Paige is walking towards the two of you, the bottle that had been in her hand was now on an empty table as she approached you, eyes filled with fire. You didn’t know what she would do but the second that Kathrine’s lips were reattached to your neck, Paige pulls you out of her grasp.

“What the fuck?” Kathrine asks, not realizing that Paige was standing in front of her.

“Hands off,” Paige says, not a break in her tone. Not a stutter at all.

You move your arm out of her grip. “I’m not a damn animal, Paige, I can speak for myself.”

Paige looks at you, making an attempt to grab your arm again. “I don’t give a fuck, Y/n. I’m done watching you and not doing jack shit about it.”

She drags you out of the house, pulling you into the backyard. And as much as you fight her, her strength wins as she holds you in front of her before letting go and shutting the glass door. You couldn’t believe the scene that had just played out and every part of you wanted nothing more than to scream at her. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Paige’s voice broke through with an urgent tone. “My problem? You’re the one who won’t let me apologize for what I said.”

You grab at your hair before snapping at her, “Why do you care? Tell me why because this whole thing is so confusing that it’s driving me insane.”

“What’s so confusing about it?” Paige acts clueless yet you know better than to believe that.

You raise your voice to match hers. “You kiss me in the locker room then you pretend that I don’t exist, saying that you’re doing it because of Azzi when we both know that’s bullshit because if you cared about Azzi in this situation you would have never dated me in the first place!”

Paige took a step towards you, tilting her head. “I was seventeen! What the fuck did I know? And you’re acting like you’re a fucking saint when you know damn well this was equally your fault as it was mine.”

“You tell me to stop coming back into your life and when I finally listen, you decide that’s not good enough and you try anything to weave your way into mine,” you say as you spit your words and you feel the sudden sting in your eyes. “Are you so conceded that you can’t handle that I’m moving on from you? That I want to live a life without you?”

“We both know you don’t want that,” she snaps. “I don’t want that.”

Those four words make you pause as you bite your lip, flipping your hair in distress. “What?”

Paige takes a deep breath, calming down from her outburst. “I thought ignoring you was going to fix this and finally make me get over you. But you’re not fucking easy to get over and seeing you with that girl or anyone else makes me want to go over there and show everyone why I wanted you in the first place.”

You couldn’t believe the words you were hearing. If anything, you were just confused because one second, she’s calling you a bitch and the next, she’s telling you she still has feelings for you. You take a slow step back from her, putting your hands behind your back. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Do what?”

You huffed because you knew that once you opened your mouth, there was no going back and everything that has happened could either be done for good or a new step forward. You didn’t let your eyes wander from her and you took a step back again, creating a bigger gap between the two of you. “Pulling me in, pushing me away and then doing that shit all fucking over again. It’s too much.”

Paige tried to take a step forward, reaching her hand out to you but all you could do was take another step back. Anything to show her that you were done. When you rejected her movement, she sighed and glanced at the ground before looking back up to you. “I didn’t think–”

“That’s right,” you say, cutting her off. “You don’t.”

Paige’s frown turned into a line when she shook her head at you. “If that’s how you feel then fine.” And she leaves you there in the backyard as she walks back inside the house. You didn’t know whether to be upset or happy at the fact that maybe she’d finally understand how you felt. You hoped she at least had the maturity to do that. At first, you didn’t know if you should walk back inside but after a few minutes, you decide to and shut the glass door behind you.

Everyone were still in their places dancing and drinking with the occasional grinding against one another which made you feel sick for some reason. You looked around the house for Kathrine but she was nowhere to be found so you had just assumed she left. Deciding to check one last bedroom, you open the door and drop your drink on the ground as you walk in on two girls, one straddling the other on the bed. They both had their shirts off and were clearly in the middle of an intense makeout.

Feeling completely embarrassed, you apologize, “Sorry, sorry my bad…” You trail off when some brunette gives you a disgusted look as she shifts in Paige’s lap. At first, Paige looked at you with anger but watching you drop your cup made her feel guilty and it was clear that you could tell.

You don’t say anything else as you shut the door and leave Paige in the room with that girl. You walk down the stairs and decide to leave the house. And as you expected, Paige never followed you.

You walked into the elevator in your building, pressing the button to the fourth floor as you continued to try to erase Paige from your mind. She shouldn’t have this much of a hold on you but she did and there wasn’t anything that you could do about it at this point. You leaned against the wall of the elevator as the doors shut and it begins to move up. You haven’t spoken to anyone including Azzi for several days since you had walked in on Paige and that random girl. And yes, it wasn’t fair to Azzi but everything and everyone reminded you of Paige. And you needed a break.

That break was going to have to wait a little bit longer because when the elevator stopped on the second floor and opened, Paige walked in, freezing in her spot when she looks up and makes eye contact with you. You look up from your phone and mimic the same expression before going back on your phone. Paige hit the button to close the elevator door and decided to stand beside you, resulting in you taking a step farther away from you.

“Can we talk?” Paige asks from beside you and all you could do was turn away and not even glance in her direction. Paige huffs at your response, turning her body towards you. “Really? Are you going to act like a child right now?”

You give her no response which fuels her even more. You hear her step towards the elevator door and out of nowhere, the elevator stops in its place. You turn towards her and look at her hand that has just pulled the red button. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Paige smirks. “So it takes me stopping a damn elevator for you to say a word to me?” She grabs your arm to which you tear away from her.

“You’re fucking crazy, Paige,” you yell out, trying to get yourself as far away from her as possible. Your chest tightened and your breathing hitched, making your face go red. Was now a good time to mention that you are claustrophobic?

“You clearly have me going fucking craz–” Paige responds but notices the way your breaths get caught in your throat. She takes a step towards you, concern clearly written across her face. “Hey, hey are you okay?”

Your back hits the elevator wall and you slide down until you’re sitting on the cold floor. You pull your legs out in front of you and hide your face in your knees, trying to gain control over your breathing.

Paige kneels down beside you, placing a warm hand on your knee which causes you to jolt in your place. “Fuck–I forgot you’re claustrophobic. I’m so sorry.”

Paige gets up and tries pressing other buttons to get the elevator moving but it’s no use because the two of you are still stuck. When it’s clear that her actions aren’t working, she comes back to your side and pulls you into her arms, wrapping her hands around you and pulling your head into her chest. “Relax princess, nothing is going to happen to you. I’m right here.”

Against your better judgement, your hands snake up to wrap around Paige’s neck as your breathing steadies. Even though Paige was the cause of your anger, she always knew how to calm you down. Paige’s grip on you gets tighter as she rubs small circles on your arm. Her touch alone was enough to fully ground you and gain control of your breathing, which Paige could tell instantly. “Talk to me mama.”

The old pet name surprised you and you couldn’t deny the way your heartbeat slowly increased again. You lifted your head up to look at her. “I’m okay I think.”

Paige gave you a soft smile, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You scared me there for a second, L/n. I can’t have you scaring me like that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped the elevator then.”

Paige’s eyes became half–lidded as she took the sight of you in her arms in. Her hand that was on your shoulder dipped to your lower back to which you could instantly tell that the mood between the two of you had shifted. You cleared your throat. “We should call for help or something.”

Paige couldn’t take her eyes off of your lips as you talked, which only turned you on more. “Or we just wait.”

“That could take forever.”

“I’m good with forever.” Her eyes couldn’t leave your mouth and yours couldn’t leave hers. This was a very bad idea but fuck it, you knew you needed her. Now.

Before thinking about it again, you pull her face towards yours and kiss her like it was your last day on Earth. Paige let out a small gasp as she held your waist to gain some sort of stability, moving her lips against yours without any shame whatsoever. Paige’s hold on your hips grows tighter as she pulls you effortlessly onto her lap. Your hands move from the sides of her face down to her neck, which you rub circles on with your thumbs. The kiss between the two of you was intoxicating and even though your mind was foggy, all you wanted was more. 

Paige lets one of her hands on your lower back drift farther down until it dips underneath the belt of your pants and caresses your ass. You gasp at the sudden move which gives Paige all she needs as she uses that opportunity to slide her tongue in your mouth. It causes you to moan and that makes Paige smile against your lips. Paige pulls away slowly, making you whimper at the sudden loss of her lips. “Look who’s desperate for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

She pulls at the bottom of your shirt, looking at you with raised eyebrows and a small smirk. “Can I take this off?”

You didn’t think twice before nodding as she pulled the fabric over your head with ease. She admired the sight before her of you in your bra that happened to be in her favorite color. Paige lets her fingers glide along your chest, outlining the shape. “You’re so fucking hot, princess.”

You tilt your head down at her. “Do you want to keep touching or do you want to actually fuck me before someone comes to fix the elevator?”

“Yes ma’am,” she whispers, taking off her own shirt and undoing your belt. You immediately go back to kissing her like you had just been and damn did it feel like the most amazing thing on the planet. All those times you would kiss other people, especially Kathrine, it never felt like this. Like they belonged with you. To you. You grip her bare shoulders which are warm and sculpted like a fucking Greek God and that only makes your pussy throb more than it was. She pulls your hips up in order to pull your pants off and you help her, tossing them to the side onto the cold floor and going back in to kiss her. She sinks you back down onto her lap and you could immediately feel yourself pooling on her sweatpants. And she could feel it too because she pulls away and laughs. “It really doesn’t take much, does it?”

You slap her shoulder. “Fuck you.”

“Is that not what you’re doing?” She asks with the slyest smile you have ever seen. When you don’t respond, she begins moving your hips against her, creating long, colored streaks on her gray sweatpants. The movements cause you to let out a moan, which causes Paige to bite her lip. “Just like that.”

Her reaction ignites a fire in you to move faster, attaching your lips to the crook of her neck and the second you do, you could almost feel her eyes rolling to the back of her head. You smile against her neck as you leave a big mark on her neck that would no doubt, soon turn into a huge hickey. Paige’s hands were everywhere on you. On your neck, your tits, your waist, your back, your thighs, your ass and the electrifying shock of her touch sent butterflies through your entire body, making you crave more.

Paige grabs a hold of your hips, slightly turning your body which causes your lips to leave her neck. You whine at the sudden loss of contact but Paige kisses you before she turns your entire body so that your back is now laying against her chest. Your legs are sprawled out but you squeeze them together to try to stop your core from dripping even more onto Paige’s lap. 

“Stop that,” Paige whispers in your ear as she forces your legs apart with her own, locking them in place so that you can’t move them back together. She wraps an arm around your stomach to keep you from squirming on her and you knew what was going to happen in exactly a few seconds. Her fingers trail down your body until they’re circling your clit slowly. You whine out, “Paige please.”

“You want more, huh?” Paige is almost mocking you at this point and you’re eating it the fuck up. She circles over your clit once, stopping and applying pressure, and then stopping once more. You’re already on edge and these small movements make your pussy throb. It’s like Paige can feel it because she begins dragging her fingers down to your entrance, teasing you before she brings them back up to your clit. 

“Paige please stop teasing me,” you breathe out, shutting your eyes every time her fingers run over your sensitive clit.

Paige uses her other hand to lightly brush your hair out of your face. You could tell by the tone of her voice and the smirk on her face that she was enjoying this a little too much. “Just tell me what you want mama.”

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself to give Paige exactly what she wants. “Please fuck me.”

“Whatever you want, ma,” she says quickly and doesn’t give you any more time to prepare as she sinks two fingers deep inside you. You gasp and lean your head back on Paige’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” you mutter as she keeps her movements controlled and slow. You take a hold of her arm to provide you some sort of stability, gripping it so hard that your fingertips turn white.

“You like this shit, huh?” Paige looks down at you and the image before her was so beautiful, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. You nod as you let out a moan, Paige’s fingers thrusting even deeper. You were practically seeing stars at the moment and never in your life did you ever think you would be fucking Paige Bueckers in an elevator. 

“Faster.” You don’t even remember those words leaving your body as Paige speeds up her movements and begins to curl her fingers inside of you which causes you to scream out, “oh fuck.”

Paige starts going as fast as she can, using the strength in her other arm to hold your body up. You can feel the knot in your stomach beginning to unravel and that causes you to push your body more against Paige.

She can feel that you’re close so she whispers, “doing so good, baby. Keep going.”

That’s all it takes when you grab her hand that’s currently deep inside you and and push her hand as far as it will go as she curls her fingers again. Paige lets out a small laugh at your movement as you cum all over her fingers. Your eyes roll back as you do nothing but moan and slump against Paige. She helps you ride out your orgasm and when your breathing starts to slow down, she pulls her fingers out of you and looks in awe at how covered in cum they are. You watch as she licks her fingers clean. “You taste good, baby.”

You are about to respond when the elevator suddenly starts to move and that’s when everything hit you. Paige had just fucked you which meant that you let in all of the old feelings for her. That you accepted everything that had happened between the two of you for years when you were just starting to accept that she didn’t want to be part of your life anymore.

You get up as quickly as you can and try to forget what just happened as you put your clothes back on as fast as possible.

“Y/n–” Paige says as she gets up from the floor, her sweats still covered in your cum.

You finish putting your shirt on as you turn around to her. “This should never have happened. This–this can’t happen again.”

“What?” Paige looked confused and mostly hurt at the sudden change in your tone. “What just happened changes things.”

You were a mess. More of a mess than you were twenty minutes ago. You go over to the elevator door and press any button you can to open the door. “What just happened was a mistake.”

Paige walks over to you, gently grabbing you by the arm so that you’ll look at her. “A mistake?”

“You can’t just pretend I don’t exist and the second that I’m finally moving on, pull me back in and pretend that this,” you say as you motion to the space between the two of you. “Will ever be something more than just fucking or playing with each other’s emotions.”

The door opens before Paige can respond and you take the first opportunity to run out of the elevator and to your dorm. And like you had expected again, she never followed you.

A few hours later had resulted in you not knowing what to do and needing something to take away all of the sudden emotions and feelings that Paige made you feel in that elevator. So that’s how you find yourself here, in your bed with Kathrine’s body on top of you. That was the thing about her. She wasn’t Paige. She never made you feel as good as Paige did but that meant she never made you feel as bad as Paige did too. And that’s what you needed right now; to not feel worse or confused. Because with Kathrine, there was no confusion in where you stood with her. So while you moaned Kathrine’s name and let her hands touch every inch of you as if she owned you, you felt safe.

Little did you know that Paige was standing outside of your door, hearing every cry and moan with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hands.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

To respond to prev tags:

The two major retailers I worked for were Five Below and CVS. Both had email quotas, as well as many other quotas to fill.

Thing is, our corporations really REALLY pushed for literally every customer to give their emails and phone numbers to us. We were taught, at both places, to greet customers at the same time we asked for emails, and to word it in a way which made it hard to deny giving an email.

For exmaple:

"Hi there, hope you're well! What's your email?"

"Hope you found what you needed today! Your email, please."

In both scenarios, you don't offer the customer a yes or no choice to deny or offer their email. You simply just ask for it outright instead of leaving the option to deny at all.

Now, a customer can deny, obviously, but then corporate got really fucking angry because a lot of people did say, "I don't have an email." Or something like that. And corporate would see that the number of emails added to their distribution system by our store was not what they expected, and they'd send our boss constant emails or give calls and send reports recording our quotas that were lacking, explaining they need us to do better.

Sometimes this was as low as 20% of customers giving an email, sometimes it was as high as 50 or 60%.

And it didn't help when half the customers didn't speak English (can't blame them, this language is a nightmare to learn) and therefore didn't know what I was asking, or that the ones who did were our regulars who signed up years ago and therefore wouldn't count being added again to the corporate email distribution system.

When folks went to checkout, the pin pads to insert or swipe cards would show a screen asking for email verification if one was listed, or asked if they wanted to add an email, and said customers could not swipe or insert their cards without selecting yes or no on the pin pad screen. It literally did not move on to payment until after the question was answered.

That was a nightmare with the non-English-speaking customers. They knew the process to pay with card, obviously, but how do you tell someone who doesn't know your language that they need to select yes or no in order to pay at all???

I often literally just spun the pin pad to myself and selected "no" for these poor folks, then spun it back to them so they could continue to pay.

Five Below was the worst because they ALWAYS ask a survey question before you can pay. It's because they have survey quotas to meet, and since those weren't met by the stores, it became mandatory by implementing it into the payment process.

Those surveys ask 1 or 2 questions that you have to select usually from a 1-5 scale, and are about either the customer service satisfaction rating, store cleanliness, or stock availability, etc.

And anything under the top most rating by Five Below was considered worthy of repremandation by the boss because it should only ever be 5/5 or 10/10 since you need to offer only the absolute best and nothing short!!!

But again, most of my customers didn't know any English, so it wasn't like I could explain this survey or tell them why their payment isn't working.

For CVS my boss printed out and highlighted and circled the quotas made vs those expected for each thing we had to meet, one of them being emails added.

I was hounded every day at both retailers I worked for to get as many emails as possible, but the large majority of customers, as in almost 100%, denied their emails to me or made excuses, and I can't and don't blame them!! I got bogus emails left and right, I was insulted left and right for trying to ask for the emails when folks were the stingy type that got defensive if I asked anything at all (and that's way more customers than you'd ever imagine), and some people threatened me, even.

But I was reprimanded constantly at both retailers by my bosses and managers if I did not ask every single customer for their email. I got told I wasn't doing my job at all or well enough, I was told I wasn't up to standards and shit.

One coworker I had would hear a customer say, "I don't have an email." And she'd ask them, "What about your wife/husband? Your sister/brother? A friend? Anyone you can think of." She tried so damn hard to get any email just to meet the quotas because that woman worked way too hard in attempt to overperform at a damn opening-level position that demanded way too much from far too few employees that were all overworked.

So yeah. Honestly, it's all stupid, and corporate is stupid, and I truly hate both Five Below and CVS for more things than just these quotas, but that was a large contributor for why I no longer work in retail.

everywhere I go people are asking me for my email. my email is in high demand. it's rare for me to visit a website without someone getting on their hands and knees, begging me for my email

[slippedtheknot]

"Get. Up."

TW: implied potential death/starvation

Caretaker had been working with Whumper for just over five years; he knew how things operated and how he handled nuisances like Whumpee. So when Whumper asked Caretaker to transfer Whumpee, it really wasn't a big deal. They both knew where Whumpee was going.

And that's how Caretaker ended up with Whumpee on a chain as they trekked through the forest.

"Whumper couldn't have had you drive me there?" Whumpee huffed from behind.

"Why? Do you honestly think that you deserve a rest?" Caretaker didn't bother to look behind him as it had been going like this for quite some time.

"After all the shit Whumper has put me through, yeah, I do."

"'All the shit,' do you mean putting a roof over your head and making sure you were fed?"

"You think he fed me?"

Caretaker didn't bother answering Whumpee. He knew that Whumper would occasionally starve him, but in all honesty, it was hard to see Whumpee as anything more than some annoying prick.

"Can we at least stop?" The breathless question landed on deaf ears as Caretaker yanked on the chain in his hand.

"No."

Caretaker tried to walk forward but felt the chain snag back. When he turned, Whumpee was on the ground with the leaves.

"Get up, Whumpee. I want to get home before it's dark." Caretaker gave another hard yank on the chain, which just pulled on Whumpee's arms. "Get. Up. Unlike you, I actually have a place to go back to, okay?"

Whumpee didn't respond, not with his usual snark.

Caretaker waited for a second before approaching Whumpee, taking notice of how bruises had started to form on his arms from the chain.

"Whumpee." Caretaker shook his body, and Whumpee's eyes opened just a sliver.

"Oookay...okay." Caretaker dropped the chain as he reached for his phone to call Whumper. "Hey, Whumper?"

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Whumpee is down in the forest right now...I don't know what's wrong with him. I promise I didn't do anything, he just-"

"Oh no Caretaker it's fine, I know."

"You know?"

"Yes...Whumpee got a bad wound this morning that why I needed to get rid of him. A toy is no fun while he's healing."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. If he refuses to stand, simply drag him. It'll make no difference; he'll be dead in a few hours."

Caretaker's heart dropped as he watched Whumpee turn his head into the dirt to conceal his tears.

"Okay. I'll make sure he gets there." Caretaker hung up the phone and put a hand on Whumpee's shoulder. "Listen, please get up. I really, really don't want to drag you."

A shaky breath left Whumpee, but he also gave no indication of standing up.

"Whumpee, please. Don't you want this to be over soon?"

At that, Whumpee turned his head to look up at Caretaker. His dirt-stained cheeks had tear tracks that went over his hollow cheek bones.

Caretaker left out a long sigh before lifting Whumpee in his arms and going back to the employee parking area.

"Where are you taking me?" Whumpee mumbled under Caretaker's chin

"I'm going to help you."

[acquelus-ussy]

Im thinking of...

Yandere!jock x wallflower!reader

Yandere!Jock is a fucking playboy, but you chose to ignore that. You've seen him do good things when his friends aren't around.

That's why you had a crush on him...

For a jock, he's pretty smart. He's a frat leader, a social butterfly, and would probably graduate with Latin honors. However, the only downside to him is that he can be a bully.

So, during the time you had a crush on him, he was the first to interact with you. But he wasn’t flirting or anything he was just asking if you were done with something.

And you being the wallflower that you are you blush you think to yourself

"is he really talking to me?"

And him, being the playboy jock, noticed the hue in your cheeks and decided to "play" with you.

"i can't believe you're blushing just because i talked to you wallflower haha cute"

It was a long time of banter between the two of you, and you thought there was something. But of course, reality strikes when a close friend of yours tells you his true intentions.

But...

Ever since you ignored our handsome jock over here He cant seem to get a hold of himself

He goes to nightclubs almost every night, trying to find a girl who looks like you, smells like you, and talks like you. But no matter how hard he tries, he knows he needs you.

The next day at school, you were in the library with a classmate, working on a school project, when he barged in. Oh yeah, he had been asking around if anyone had seen you it's not like he's in love or anything.

He pushes your classmate out of their chair and tells them to get lost. Then, grasping your arms, he looks at you and asks,

"Where the fuck have you been? We need to talk. I'm the most wanted man on campus, and you just ignore me like that? Doing that won’t make me give you more attention, you know."

"so what i don't fucking care i don't like you anymore"

Pang

What you said hurt him, but then again, why is he acting like this? A lot of girls love him and want to be with him, so what’s up with you? He knew you liked him but what the fuck happened?

Later that night... You wake up to glass shattering

Intruder?

A hand suddenly cups your mouth and you feel something hard on your back then you hear

"shh baby you got me all bricked~ up there's no use in fighting me i know how much of a fucking slut you are~"

The last thing you remember was passing out

You wake up to a soft, comfy bed but hold on… Why is there something heavy stopping you from moving? You turn your head and see him.

"You know, my love, a lot of girls dream about this… but you're the only one I want. I'm done being a player." He kisses you on the forehead.

"And also, don’t worry about school and your parents I called up some old buddies," he says, continuing to hug you like there's no tomorrow.

It sucks being a wallflower no one would look for you but don’t worry because he will~

---

This is probably the most longest fucking thing i wrote

[dragonbabes]

*F*cking Yap Warning; expect run ons and awful grammar and cursewords*

This is a super interesting thought. Cause I sorta agree. This isn’t to say that I’m upset that they gave the companions main character energy — cause they are, in a sense — and I adore all of their quirks and whatnot’s. But they put too little effort into Rook. From the very beginning.

I remember thinking that Rook is such a disposable character. I played a Shadow Dragon on my first playthrough, and I remember straight up snorting at Rook's response on why they couldn't navigate to Dumat Plaza: "Not my part of town." Seriously? But worry not, we have Harding, who can figure out something that Rook, who's probably lived in Minrathous for years, couldn't! (Lame)

Crow Rook: is assassin... Like Lucanis. Love this man to death but, why can't Rook do the stabby stab at Ghilan'nain? Does it have to be the sexy, coffee-obsessed man? Is Rook de Riva not sexy enough to brandish a weapon at the nefarious Ghilan'nain or the not-too-intimidating Elgar'nan? It was never explained it was just *shrug* Two's better than one ah-hyuck... When Neve was like "We need an assassin" to my very crow Rook, I was literally there like

( L a m e )

In my Shadow Dragon playthrough, I sacrificed Minrathous and I loved that Neve and the others are so much more critical than they are with other Rook origins, but literally no one on the team was like: how are you? That Lucanis - the soft, yearning, feeling man that he is - did not approach Shadow Dragon Rook that sacrificed their home, their city, their people, to protect his is so fucking wack to me. And - hot take, I think there's a lack of this throughout all of the games - no one ever checks in on the leader, because why? They're this amazingly unbreakable person that can face anything? No! Any hero worth their salt breaks, but they get back up. That's what makes em the hero. Iron Bull literally says "leaders are made of the people that can make the hard decisions, and live with them" but we never get to live with it, do we? They don't give us the chance to see them process that, and learn to hold it, because none of the companions bother to ask, "Hey I know you literally just had to sacrifice an entire city, how are you?" (Lame) If you want a player to feel immersed in your game and take joy in it, you give them the ability to affect the world. You make them feel the story by asking them "How do you feel after making this awful, awful decision?" Then, you let them choose how to answer the question... This was a huge fumble.

And oh my gawd the whole reason that Varric ever recruited Rook is just... Puzzling to me. He was just like "a-ha, yah, i want that one" because Rook is unpredictable? That's it? No actual purpose to the plot, they're just here to be like "haha he won't expect us to drop a building on him c'est la vie..." (l a m e)

Can we please also talk about how Rook can't have any side conversations with their companion outside of the cutscenes? In Inquisition, you could walk up to Solas and be like "what the fuq is up big dawg" then dap him up but in DATV? You're a sad loner sitting at your own lunchtable because they unfortunately don't have enough chairs at theirs (you can see an empty chair, but they need it for Neve's bag). You have to stand there like a creep and just be like "definitely not eavesdropping, nope nope nope. uh-uh, I merely entered this room that I really have no business in to stare into the void don't mind me carry on... Pleeeease I'm desperate to explore your character but can't outside of seeing how you talk to the others and plot-related developments."

And let me reiterate that I do love this game. It's fun to play and there are a bajillion things I do like about it... But how they handled Rook is very disappointing. Creating a character blank enough for a roleplay game is tricky, I get it, and i'm certain there are things I don't understand about it, but it's also the most important character in the game. Period. Let your players play their characters, is what i'm sayin.

If you got this far, I admire you.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[nova2kss]

Plug!Connie x black!Reader

Plug Connie fic (sorta kinda) bc I love him sooo much

Not proof read

Enjoy cause im prob not gonna write again until may🙂‍↕️ ily guys

Constance fucking springer a dangerous man as some would say.

You being best friends and roommates with Sasha braus, made you a bit more acquainted with the man more than you’d like as you would say.

You never really tried to involve yourself into his lifestyle…well that was until finals week when you were terribly stressed

The only thing you needed from him was a few grams.

A few grams turned into a few packs, a few packs turned into a few smoke sessions, and a few smoke sessions turned into Connie beating your shit from the back.

“S-shit take it out papa, I’m s-sorryyy” 

“Mhm hmm I know”

The tinted windows on his all back red rimmed SRT was fogged with your hand prints all over them

You didn’t mean to put yourself in this predicament, you just wanted to show your man that you were a grown ass woman who could make her own decisions

Connie’s hands were deepening your arch in his back seat

“Keep that back arched or I won’t let up baby”

You gripped the hand door handle praying keeping that deep arch would give him some sympathy to give you at least a break

“Mhmm just like that mami, shit so good ima nut in you”

“Fuck paaa please I’m so s-sor AH”

You were interrupted with a sting on your ass combined with a sharp thrust.

“Fuck up, take that shit. This what you wanted right”

He was right, this was indeed what you wanted, you just weren’t expecting him to fuck you this hard.

As much as you complained you loved seeing this side of him, you loved when he put you in your place, and reminded you why you shouldn’t piss him off.

He slowed his thrust down ever so slightly watching the white ring drip around his shaft as you to connected.

“Look at you creaming on this dick baby”

The whimpers you let out in unison with the squelching around him; had him ready to give you all his cum.

As much as he was mad at you, he couldn’t hold back his moans in the slightest, your pussy had him rambling spewing out anything

“F-fuck I love you s’much baby” “you feel so good” “I’m gonna cum baby”

All of this while he fucked you so stupid you couldn’t even respond.

Your eyes were rolling in the back of your head when Connie snaked his hands into your hair pulling your head back onto his chest.

You couldn’t even speak and ask for a break the most you could do was reach your hand back and try and push him out of your guts

Connie looked down at your petty attempt to push him away

“Move your hand baby”

“Mhm mhm”

“Y/n move that shit”

“Mhm nooo, take sum outtt”

His thrust came to a halt

“Y/n if you don’t move yo hand ima kill yo shit”

Your hand was moved with quickness.

“Uhh Fuck pa I’m gonna cum”

“I know baby I feel you, I’m right there”

Your hips move with his chasing your nut, and Connie was doing every for you to catch it

His hand stayed tangled in your hair as he licked and moaned over your neck

He couldn’t hold his nut anymore, and neither could you

“Cum for me baby, I’m right thereee”

The waterfall rushed out wetting his fresh leather seats and his whole lower half

“M’cumming m’cumminggg”

His thrust stopped as he painted your insides with his warm seed

The only thing you seen was the whites of his eyes while he groaned into you, riding out your orgasms

You both moaned as he pulled out, watching his nut drip out of you

He laughed looking at the seats of his car

“We made a mess”

[slut4megantheestallion]

Hello, I was wondering if you could accept my request and publish it. Arcane women x reader who has favorite (sexual) activity to do scissors! If you're uncomfortable with this, it's not your style or anything else, it's totally fine if you don't write it down. That's all. Regards, and have a nice day!

Arcane Women x reader - their reaction to Scissoring being your favorite Headcannons

Characters: Jinx, Vi, Mel, Caitlyn, Sevika, Ambessa

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Scissoring, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Praise, Dirty Talk, Intimacy

Jinx

●Jinx loves that this is your favorite. She’s a chaotic, energetic lover, and scissoring is perfect for her fast-paced, playful nature.

●"Holy shit, babe, that’s so hot. Why the hell haven’t we done this already?!"

●She giggles, teasing you while locking her legs around yours, rolling her hips wildly. Jinx likes to make a game out of it, seeing who can last longer before cumming first.

●"Think you can outlast me, sugar? Hah, good fuckin’ luck~!"

●She’s loud, unfiltered, moaning and whimpering with every thrust. She’ll make the whole thing messy, leaving hickeys on your thighs, fingers gripping your ass as she whines about how good you feel.

●"Fuckfuckfuck—ohhh, babe—hah, I’m gonna—ahhh~!

Vi

●Vi is absolutely down for it. She’s strong, passionate, and loves anything that lets her be close to you—physically and emotionally. The first time you bring it up, she smirks, running a hand through her pink hair.

●“Damn, babe, that’s hot. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

●She loves watching your body move against hers, the way your thighs squeeze together, and how wet and desperate you get for her. Vi is dominant but enjoys when you take control, gripping her hips and grinding hard.

●"Shit—yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

●She’ll hold your waist, pressing her forehead against yours, moaning into your mouth as you both chase release. Vi is a sucker for eye contact, her blue eyes locked onto yours as you both fall apart together.

●"God, I love seeing you like this, baby. Can’t get enough of you."

Caitlyn

●At first, Caitlyn was a little surprised. She’s used to a more traditional pace in the bedroom, but the idea excites her. She pushes her dark hair behind her ear, blushing.

●"Oh? That’s… quite the request. But, I have to admit, it sounds rather enticing."

●She loves the intimacy of it—how your legs tangle, how your bodies align so perfectly. Caitlyn is incredibly attentive, watching your every reaction, making sure she’s moving just right.

●"You feel amazing, darling. Look at you… absolutely breathtaking."

●Caitlyn grips the sheets when you take control, dragging your body against hers with need. She moans softly, but when she gets overwhelmed, her posh accent becomes more desperate.

●"Y-Yes—keep going! Just like that, love, don’t stop—!"

Mel

●Mel is amused when you tell her. She swirls her wine, a smirk playing on her lips as she watches you with a knowing look.

●“Oh? That’s what excites you the most? How very… refined of you.”

● She adores the sensuality of it. Mel loves slow, drawn-out pleasure, teasing you with barely-there movements until you’re begging for more.

●“Patience, my love. You’ll get what you want… eventually.”

● She’s all about luxury and control—her hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements with practiced grace. She enjoys watching you squirm under her, your lips parted as you struggle to keep up with her precise pace.

●“Yes, just like that. You look divine, darling—so desperate, so needy. It’s beautiful.”

● The eye contact is intense—Mel’s golden irises locked onto yours as she whispers filthy praises, watching every shiver that runs through you. She never lets you finish quickly—she drags it out until you can’t take it anymore.

●"Tell me, my love… how badly do you want to cum?"

Sevika

●Sevika raises a brow when you bring it up. She’s used to being in control, so the idea of something so intimate makes her pause. But she’s intrigued.

●"Huh. Didn’t peg you for the type to want something so... close."

●She tries to act like she’s unaffected, but the first time you grind against her? She loses it. Groaning low in her throat, hands gripping your waist as she mutters curses under her breath.

●"Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel good."

●Sevika isn’t as vocal as Jinx, but she makes up for it in deep, raspy moans. She’ll grip your thighs, forcing you to move slower, making sure she feels every slick, heated drag of your bodies.

●"Don’t rush it. I wanna feel you—every inch of you."

Ambessa

●Ambessa raises a single brow when you tell her, her lips curving into a smirk as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest.

●“So, that’s what you like? Hmph. You have fine taste.”

●She’s commanding, completely in control—even when you’re on top - Ambessa makes you work for it. She grips your hips, forcing you to move at her pace, watching you with an almost predatory gleam in her eyes.

●“Slower. I want to feel every inch of you.”

●Ambessa is ruthless in her teasing. She never lets you set the rhythm fully—one moment, she’s letting you grind desperately against her, and the next, she’s gripping your thighs and flipping you beneath her.

●“You thought you were in charge? Adorable.”

●She growls low in her throat when she feels you tense beneath her, dragging her body against yours in slow, powerful movements that leave you gasping.

●"Look at you… so desperate for me. You want more? Beg for it."

●Afterward, she doesn’t let you move. You’re completely trapped in her arms, her powerful body keeping you close as she chuckles against your skin.

●"You wanted this, didn’t you? Now, you can rest right here, little one."

[lulujamesspencer]

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to  learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

[everfallenwings]

.ೃ࿐ kamisama + kaiser ! -> female reader

michael kaiser had never once felt this low in his life.

he was a cold-blooded killer, a force to be reckoned with, an emperor. reigning from the foreign shackles of misfortune, the moment micheal kaiser picked up a sword, every spirit and human knew he would burn the world if it meant to change his fate—to call his success his.

and it was his; blood was shed, and destiny shifted. michael kaiser was an emperor amongst the spirit-world, and the mere mention of his name would make your blood run cold. in fact, even his eyes tell the same story—demon-like, azure crescents among his angel-like face. the concoction of pure and evil, beautiful and ugly, and to harm and heal made kaiser who he was; the closest thing to a god.

so, if that were true, why was the yokai on his knees, bowing down to a human?

bowing down to you.

when rumours of a young human girl becoming land god of a well-known shrine circulated in the spirit world, kaiser had to check it out himself. his full intention was to laugh at your piteous whining of not being able to take the duties of a real god, not knowing his habit of bullying the weak would bite him in the ass hard.

so there the yokai sat atop a tree branch, watching your poor fingers clawing into another branch as you hung. “the shrine spirits said you’d help, kaiser!— oh, will you? she’s going to kill me!” you huffed, an ivory palm sitting underneath his cheek as he smirked, blue eyes squinting in amusement. “oh, did they?” the blonde coos, peering at the starving yokai quickly climbing the tree, “beg for your life and perhaps i will.” he slowly adjusts his black and red yukata with a huge grin plastered on his face.

you narrow your eyes, choosing silence against the spirit. “really, i keep my promises, human. just say ‘please kaiser, save me and my foolish life!’ and i’ll help you.” kaiser laughs, the azure tips of his hair twinkling in the moonlight. “and why would i do that?! you’re just a spirit, not a god.” you counter, furrowing your brows as his gaze grew annoyed. “i am a god, girl. and if i’m ‘just a spirit’, why do you need my help so bad?” he questions, tilting his head.

a sacred word binding grants the host the ability to order their familiar to any and every request, only sealed with a kiss.

you could feel your blood boiling; a god? there was no way this was the jerk controlling the underworld at the tips of his pristine, lithe fingers. the shrine spirits told you all about it—the tales, revenge, and true torture he put every spirit through. you grab kaiser's ankle as the yokai finally reaches the top of the tree, pulling him down with you.

his face contorts into surprise, then disgust. "you foolish human—all you had to do was say a few words, and now your pride is going to cost your life." he reprimands, yukata flowing along the winds, along with his silky, blue-tipped hair. "tell me this, kaiser." you spat, an uncharacteristic smile planted on your face as the two of you tumbled down severe winds. "how does it feel like being a land-god's new familiar?"

deep azure eyes widen like never before, revealing the prominent streaks of red adorning the crease of his eyes. "you—"

and all it took for a deadly emperor, incapable of change or obedience to be completely at your mercy, was a sweet kiss on the lips. dainty hands cupping ivory cheeks, along with soft lips crashing onto his own. michael kaiser had never felt this low in his entire life, he feels as if the air had been sucked dry from his lungs.

"okay, then. save me, mihya." you pull away, whispering against his cheek.

as the former god of the underworld slashes the yokai after you to bits without a word, his arms pull you into him, providing a safe landing from all the turbulence.

and he's never felt sicker in his life.