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themultifanshipper · 2 days ago

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It was a lot of fun, being persued by by two Formula 1 drivers.

But they would soon be getting tired of the chase. They weren't going to let you stay ahead of them for much longer.

Warnings: smut, finally bottom franco, technically a threesome but not really, restraints (belt), edging, shower sex, anal (mxm), face fucking, tension?

Anon originally had an idea with journalist reader but I went in another direction :3

The tension between you and Max had been brewing since your rookie year.

You'd instantly taken a liking to each other and hung out all the time whenever you had breaks.

You'd been on his yacht, he'd been to your family's vineyard for some wine tasting. You were good friends, and you knew each other exceedingly well.

And of course it wasn't rare for the two of you to find yourselves battling for positions on track, and even came together a couple of times over the years.

That lead to some pretty heated arguments, you even took a swing at him once. You were both hot-headed competitors, it was inevitable.

Nothing ever happened between you though, you'd always kept a sensible distance to your coworkers.

But you couldn't help being a tease.

You'd put sexy bikini pictures of yourself on holiday in your private story, which only Max had access to.

He figured it out pretty quickly when no one else seemed to know what the hell he was talking about when he asked them about it.

And then Franco arrived.

But he never pushed. If this was a game you wanted to play, he could wait it out, no problem. If you got desperate enough you would come crawling to him, he was sure of it.

Franco was the biggest flirt you'd ever seen. Surpassing the likes of Daniel and Carlos as the smoothest talker on the grid.

He was slightly closer to you in age, so you gravitated towards each other naturally.

You went on holiday with him a couple of times, and you went clubbing a lot.

So pretty soon the rumours shifted from you and Max, to you and Franco.

And there were pictures circulating. You and Max had had your fair share of paparazzi nuisances, but with Franco it was on another level.

It was impossible to see each other without photos coming out the next day.

Some were photoshopped, like the ones of you and him on your yacht, kissing.

Or at least that's what your PR team told the public.

You hadn't slept with him of course, but 4 glasses of wine is 4 glasses of wine.

That's 3 too many if you want to keep a clear head. And day drinking in the sun is a dangerous game when you're alone with a horny man on a yacht.

But you politely rejected his advances, insisting that your relationship was supposed to be professional.

Max saw the photos. Of course he did. And he knew they weren't fake, so the next time he saw you he confronted you.

Much to the chagrin of both of your bodies’ needs.

“So how's it going with Colapinto?” he asked, faking nonchalance while you waved to the fans at the drivers parade.

“Nothing's going on, don't be jealous” you plastered a fake smile on your face for the cameras.

“I'm not jealous” he snapped.

“Sure you aren't, Max. Anyway I keep my love life, and sex life, separate from my career, you know that”

He scoffed, turning away from you to talk to whoever was on his other side.

During the next week you decided to spice things up a little.

The race weekend went by without a hitch, and Max didn't bring it up again.

You sent Max a dirty picture.

Nothing too bad, just you in some lingerie and a see through robe that hid absolutely nothing.

You followed it up with “shit, that wasn't for you sorry”

If that didn't get Max riled up nothing would.

But to your disappointment, he didn't reply.

That night you got yourself off to Franco's answering texts instead. You sent the same picture with the same caption, and waited for him to take the bait.

The next weekend Max cornered you in the paddock on media day.

He’d played the game at least, sending you a delicious picture in return, in the name of fairness.

He dragged you to a quiet corner and caged you in against the wall.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” he hissed, pressing you against the wall.

“What the fuck Max! What are you even talking abou-”

“I'm not fucking stupid, I know that picture was for me”

You sighed.

“No it wasn't, Max”

“Who was it for, then?”

“Wouldn't you like to know” you smirked, which just made him angrier.

“Yes, I would actually”

You pushed him off roughly and he stumbled backwards, taken off guard by your sudden aggressiveness.

“None of your fucking business. And if you want to fuck me, this really isn't the right way to go about it”

The next day, lord knows how, Franco managed to sneak into your driver’s room.

You sauntered off, leaving Max to fume in silence at your audacity.

“I enjoyed that picture very much, you know” he mumbled as he approached you from behind.

He quickly plastered himself to your back, hands on your hips while he felt you up.

“I'm sure you did. But it was an accident” your voice shook as his hands wandered.

He chuckled. “I am not convinced of that”

He placed kisses along the side of your neck, trailing upwards towards your lips as he turned your head to look at him.

“Any chance I can see more?”

His lidded eyes bore into yours and you sighed, pushing him away half-heartedly.

“No Franco. I can't go around sleeping with my coworkers. It's not professional”

He smirked. “Not professional? Tell me, who was that picture for?”

You hesitated a second too long.

“You don't know him.”

He bit his lip mockingly, he knew you were lying. “Okay. I guess will just go then”

Max won the race. He was back on his A-game and you’d spent the second part of the race squabbling with Franco and Alex over 10th place for the last point.

And he did, he slipped out without anyone noticing him, leaving you to contemplate your next move.

You got it, at the expense of Franco's front wing.

“That was a dirty move” he groaned into your neck.

You'd found yourselves back in the same position, him grinding against your ass, this time in the club while the bass made your bodies thrum with excitement.

“If you want to get my attention, crashing into me isn't the right way to go about it”

You shivered, both at his tone and at the fact that you'd said almost exactly that to Max three days prior.

“Why would I want your attention?” you murmured back, enjoying the feeling of his hands caressing your body.

“Darling, we both know you want to fuck me”

You turned around in his hold, giving him the most seductive eyes you could muster.

“No I don't”

He groaned and threw his head back in frustration.

“Don't do this to me. We both want it, stop playing around and let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You smiled and leaned in.

“But where's the fun in that?”

You removed his hands from you body and slinked back into the crowd.

What you didn't know is that Max was in the DJ booth with Lando, and with his vantage point he could see everything.

Running away, once again.

He saw you slip away through the crowd and over to the bar.

His blood boiled and he decided to take action.

But he didn't make his way to you. He went to see Franco instead.

“Mate I need to talk to you”

“Ok, mate” Franco was confused, but followed him towards the bathrooms anyway, where it was slightly quieter.

“Did she send you a picture of herself last week?” Max was going straight to point.

Franco hesitated. “Who?”

Max rolled his eyes at the younger man “You know who, don't play stupid”

The sudden thought that you might be in a relationship with Max flashed through Franco’s mind.

What if he'd read the situation all wrong? What if Max had found out about the flirting and was actually about to beat him up?

“No?” he answered, but it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

Max looked unimpressed.

“Give me your phone”

Franco complied immediately.

Max proceeded to scroll through his messages, and clicked on the conversation with you.

The picture of Franco appeared on his screen first, and he looked up at the man incredulously.

“You sent one back? It was obviously bait. Are you stupid?”

“I know it's all a game to her” he snatched his phone back “but playing it got me a very nice picture of her so who cares?”

“I'm not playing the game and I got the same fucking photo”

Franco frowned at his phone, and had to admit, he had him there. Maybe he had been stupid.

“Well… you keep not playing, and I will keep playing, and we will see who get her to break first?” he suggested.

“No” Max snapped. “I am sick of not playing”

He glanced at Franco's screen, where the photo of you was still visible.

They completely ignored you for two whole weeks.

“She has been teasing us for too long. Now it's time she learned her lesson”…

They avoided you at the weekend, and they never returned any of your calls and messages.

You even tried sending them more pictures, but they both left you on read.

You were bored.

You knew something was up when you spotted the two of them deep in conversation in front of the Redbull garage. They were plotting.

Max was pretty much your best friend on the grid, and you missed messing around with Franco.

So on Saturday night, you sent them both a text you knew they wouldn't be able to ignore.

Well Max might, but Franco would definitely crack.

To Franco, you sent “If you come and fuck me now, I won't tell Max”

And to Max, “If you come fuck me now, I won't tell Franco”

You sent them both your room number, and waited. They both saw the texts immediately.

Max had too much self control, so you doubted whether he would be desperate enough to show.

You waited barely 20 minutes before Franco was at your door.

But Franco…

He was so easy.

You had him on the bed, laying under you while you made your way down his body, picking off his clothing bit by bit.

“I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me”

His pupils were blown wide and a slight blush was creeping up his neck.

“The offer was too good to pass up” he groaned as you rubbed yourself over the bulge rapidly growing in his boxers.

You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, and he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you and roll you over.

“Your teasing has been driving me crazy” he panted, hovering over you while he made quick work of your clothes.

“Why do you think I was doing it” you muttered with a smile, and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he realised how much you'd been enjoying teasing him.

“To make me lose it and come fuck the shit out of you?” he asked, exasperated.

“That's the plan” you bit your lip, looking up at him with a smile.

“Perra” he groaned, sitting up. “Turn over”

You raised an eyebrow at him, doing as he said.

His hands were palming your ass while he admired the view, when a sharp knock at the door broke the tense silence.

Your jaw dropped as you looked back at Franco who was wearing a similar look of shock on his face.

Neither of you knew quite what to do, and the knock sounded again, louder this time.

You jumped to your feet, grabbing a robe on the way and opened the door.

Max stood there, fists clenched.

“Max…”

“Is Franco in there?”

You were taken aback by his question.

“And bear in mind, the answer is going to determine how this evening goes for you”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, but was saved answering by Franco appearing next to you.

“I am here… sorry”

He looked slightly afraid, and it was understandable, because the grin that spread over Max's face was evil enough to scare even you.

“I had a feeling you would be here” he stepped inside, crowding against you as he slammed the door behind him. “Option number two, then”…

You didn't know what option number one was, but number two involved you having your hands tied to the headboard, while Max had his cock shoved down Franco's throat.

Which is not something you ever thought you would see.

But there Franco was, drooling around Max’s girth with red cheeks and tears in his eyes.

You knew he was enjoying it though, because he was still wearing his boxers and the wet patch at the front was getting steadily larger.

“Look at you” Max cooed “are you crying because you got caught betraying me just to get your dick wet?”

Franco whined, hips bucking at Max's tone.

“Or are you crying because you’re enjoying this a bit too much?”

Franco closed his eyes, more tears falling as he breathed deeply through his nose.

“You were fucking made for this. You've obviously had practice, slut ”

Franco whimpered pathetically and you throbbed at the sound.

You were fully naked, spread out for Max to admire.

“And you” he snapped at you. “You have been teasing me for years, making me wait, while posting pictures of yourself for my eyes only. Then this little bitch arrives and you let him touch you? Absolutely not”

He pulled out of Franco's mouth and manhandled him onto his hands and knees, facing you while Max dragged his boxers down his legs.

Franco's eyes widened as he looked at you, glancing between your thighs at where you were glistening in the soft light.

“You've been playing games with me since you joined the grid. And you would just let Franco have you after a couple of months? Over my dead fucking body”

He pushed Franco down onto the bed, making his arms buckle and his back arch obscenely, and the younger man gasped.

“So I'm going to fuck Franco, and you are going to watch.”

God knows where the bottle of lube came from, but you were grateful for it, on Franco's behalf.

The way Franco reacted when the first finger went it made you gasp softly.

His eyes fluttered closed and he arched his back even more, pushing back against Max as he let out a porn worthy whimper.

You were getting so turned on, you went to close your thighs but Max tutted.

“Franco, hold her legs open”

He obeyed, shuffled forwards and curled his hands around your knees to hold you in place.

Unfortunately, that brought his face closer to your soaked folds and you could feel his cool breath down there.

You whimpered and he groaned, leaning his head against one of your knees as he looked at your slick lips with a pained look on his face.

“Don't you dare touch, Franco” Max growled “You need to learn patience”

He was on three fingers already, and he was entranced by the way Franco's hole swallowed them greedily.

He made quick work of lubing himself up and pushing into the younger man, who mewled at the stretch.

“Jesus, you are tight.” He gritted his teeth as he pushed in to the hilt. “squeezing around me so good, maybe I should give up on her and just keep you as my plaything, hmm?”

He gave an experimental thrust and Franco whined low in his throat as he looked up at you through lidded eyes.

He looked so fucked out it was almost pathetic.

But to be honest, you probably looked even worse.

You squirmed against the bed, unable to get any sort of friction or stimulation as you were forced to watch Max rail Franco into the mattress.

“You're fucking dripping” Max commented, finally glancing at where you could indeed feel the sheets under you becoming damp.

He wrapped an arm around Franco's middle, shuffling him forwards until he was only an inch away from your soaked folds.

“You want a taste Franco?”

The younger man nodded as best he could with Max’s grip his hair.

Max just chuckled and pushed Franco's face forward, allowing him to eat you out hastily.

The sudden intense stimulation made you writhe under him, cursing as he sucked on your clit while his tongue delved into your wetness.

“Fuck! Oh my god-“ you whined, hips trying to buck but Franco's hold on your thighs was too strong as he devoured you.

As your moans increased in pitch, Max could tell you were getting closer and just as you were about to fall over the precipice, he pulled Franco's head back roughly.

You cried out at the loss, and Max just chuckled, slamming his hips into Franco even harder.

“Max please” you whined, and Max cooed in mock simpathy.

He pushed Franco against you once again, revelling in the way he tightened around his cock at being manhandled like this.

He angled his hips so that his cock pushed against Franco's prostate, and the vibrations of the resounding moan against your cunt got you right to the edge once again.

But again, when Max saw your thighs start to tremble, he pulled on Franco's hair to separate him from you.

Tears clung to your lashes as you were robbed of yet another orgasm, and Franco let out a loud moan.

“I'm gonna come, Max!” he cried, and Max just picked up the pace of his hips.

“Then come, I'm not stopping you”

Once Franco had come down from his mind-numbing orgasm, Max pulled out of him carefully and rolled him over, making sure to avoid the puddle of cum now in the middle of the bed.

Franco's eyes rolled back and his upper body slumped against the mattress as Max continued to pound into him while you watched helplessly.

“You can go now, I will take it from here” he muttered as he handed Franco his clothes.

You looked at Max.

He looked at you on his way out, sending you a kiss before the door slammed shut behind him.

He was making his way around the bed to come and untie you from the headboard.

You weren't quite sure what to say to him as you stretched your arms.

He walked into to the bathroom and turned the shower on, then poked his head around the doorway.

“Come and join me”

You got off the bed hesitantly.

Was that it? Were you going to take a shower and then he’d leave? Or stay with you and talk?

You weren't sure which option you hated more.

You got to the bathroom and he was already under the water, cleaning himself without a care in the world.

You approached him, putting an hand on his shoulder.

“Max? Are you angry with me?”

He huffed out a laugh.

“No, why would I be angry?”

He kept washing himself, and you had no idea what to answer.

He had every right to be pissed after all.

He looked at your confused face and chuckled.

“No, I am not angry with you”

You nodded, and he moved over a bit and pulled you under the spray.

He pulled you against his chest and looked down at you.

“I'm not angry, but I am sick of your games”

You gulped.

You could feel him against your hip, he was still hard.

“You didn't come” you muttered, and he smiled.

“Neither did you”

Your heart was beating fast as you stared at him.

“Are you planning to?”

He nodded.

“Oh yes. But you have a choice to make. Either I fuck you now, and we both come.”

His hand came to cup your jaw as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Or, I leave right now, and you’ll never get to know how good you could've had it these past two years.”

Your jaw dropped, and your cunt throbbed at the idea of finally getting to fuck Max.

“Well?” his other hand trailed downwards to ghost over your folds, dipping in ever so slightly, to confirm that you were still soaked. “What will it be?”

You gasped, head leaning back against the tiles of the shower wall.

“Fuck me, please”

He grinned. “That's what I was hoping for”

He wasted no time turning you around and pushing into you roughly, your wetness easing the slide as he bottomed out on the first thrust.

You both groaned, and he snapped his hips, determined to hear that noise again.

He made you come twice like that, pressed against the shower wall as he took the frustration of the past two years out on you.

He did indeed make you regret not giving in to him sooner.

Later, in bed, you cuddled together after having changed the sheets.

“So tell me Max. If tying me up and fucking Franco in front of me was option number two… what was option number one if Franco hadn't been here?”

He chuckled, pulling you tighter against him.

“If you had been alone, I would have tied you to the bed and left you there alone"

You gasped.

“and Franco?”

“I would have fucked him anyway, to congratulate him for not giving in to you”

You went silent. Thank god for Franco’s weak will.

“Can I fuck him?" you asked "I really want to"

Max nuzzled into your neck and nipped at your skin.

“Of course. As long as I can keep fucking you, I don’t really care”

You hummed and turned your head, looking into his deep blue eyes.

“Sounds good to me”

He smiled, giving you a quick kiss before laying his head back on the pillow.

“Me too”

You giggled sleepily.

Just like you planned.

You had your best friend back, and two men were at your beck and call.

#my thots #franco thots #max thots #max verstappen #franco colapinto #max verstappen smut #franco colapinto smut #max verstappen x reader #franco colapinto x reader #max verstappen x franco colapinto #f1 #formula 1 #request

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1d1195 · 13 hours ago

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Pucking Rookie I

~8.4k words

From me: here she is. gonna be at least one more part (probs 2) sorry. I didn't mean to do a series. I just can't shut up and I introduced too many fun characters. I don't know a lot about hockey so a lot of this is probably unrealistic.

Warnings: douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent (it's hockey after all)

Summary: When the assistant coach's niece comes to take pictures of the team, her lens isn't the only thing capturing Harry Styles heart and soul on and off the ice. Harry wants to win her over more than he wants to win the entire league championship. (Although it would be nice to rub it in her ex's stupid face if he won that too).

The rink was chilly even with the appropriate clothes on. Despite the fact she practically lived in ice arenas for the two years, it never ceased to catch her off guard with how cold it was. To be fair, she was a lot closer to the ice this time around. Her camera pressed into the little glass cutout, her eye checking the visual before she clicked the shutter.

Quickly she pulled away as two of the guys pressed against the glass right next to her. “Hey Sweetheart,” Noah Ashford smiled briefly as he skated off in the other direction. She rolled her eyes. Uncle Charlie, assistant coach of The Arctic Chargers, warned the entire team that his niece was taking residence at the rink and would be part of media photos, headshots, and would be submitting to all major sport reporting outlets. The team was told without question, not to bother her in any way.

Naturally the group of twenty twenty-something year-old hockey players were going to do nothing of the sort.

Captain Evander Langston swished almost gracefully over to her. He stopped in front of her with a puff of ice at his feet. “Do you think I have a good side?”

She shook her head with a smirk and looked over the photos she just took in the last three minutes. “Probably not the left. You’ve been checked into the board over there about five times this practice alone.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you wound me.” Sweetheart was the name Uncle Charlie called her in front of the whole team during the introduction and so it was the only thing any of them paid attention to from their coach. “Don’t say that in front of the others,” he pleaded quietly.

“I would never, Cap,” she smiled kindly.

He returned her grin with his own. “You call me Cap, and I’m going to have a problem with Coach’s rule, Sweetheart. But I know we’re all going to like having you around to keep us in check.”

“Lang, you better not be flirting when your technique needs work!” Kian Calloway shouted across the ice where he slapped a puck into the open net from the blue line.

“You better not be flirting, period, Lang!” Uncle Charlie called.

“Yeah!” Callie repeated to his captain. She had gone over the nicknames with her uncle before starting. Lang, Asher, and Callie were easy and as some of the major stars of the team, it made sense she would chat with them most. “If anyone is going to flirt with her, it’s going to be me!”

“I’ll sit you for less, Callie,” Charlie warned.

She couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t mind the attention nor care. It was adorable. Like a group of puppies looking for attention. With a shake of her head, she made her way around the glass and boards for another angle of the players on the ice. She wanted shots of the goalie. Niall Horan seemed much too nice to be a hockey player but perhaps that’s why he was the goalie. He was the first one to introduce himself and he didn’t seem to have the temper that the other players did over trivial things (like tying skates together or putting salt in someone’s Gatorade). Niall blocked shots from his teammates as if it was nothing but breathing. In a way it was stunning, nearly beautiful.

Hockey was violent, yes. But there was beauty in it, too. The way players skated backwards, cupped the puck on their stick. The speed, agility, and gracefulness required to stay standing. It was all really beautiful, and she was excited to be up close this time around. For the last two years she had been in a box cheering for her ex-boyfriend, right forward for the Glacier Wolves, Kael Crowe.

To be completely honest, she should have known it wouldn’t have worked out. Among the cheating, the belittling, and all the other things that were, in hindsight, an abysmal part of dating him, the orange and blue coloring wasn’t her favorite. The Arctic Chargers black and silver jerseys were much more her speed. Kael was her boyfriend of years and years but once he made it to the majors three years ago, things were very different.

“You can come on the ice, Sweetheart, we’re almost done!” Asher said.

Even though she had dated a hockey player for nearly a decade (most of which took place during college) she couldn’t skate. Uncle Charlie tried when she was younger to teach her, but the balance and coordination was not in her wheelhouse. She longed to skate better. Figure skaters were so dainty and beautiful as they glided on the ice. She was neither of those things and almost dreaded getting on the ice in the boots she was wearing. If she fell in front of her uncle, it was embarrassing. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be in front of an entire professional hockey team.

“One second!”

She wanted to prolong the agony. Plus, with her fragile camera it seemed like a death sentence to send her out there. Even if it was what she was getting paid to do. It wasn’t the most lucrative job she had, but it was what she wanted to do most. She was grateful for the opportunity and hoped it would kickstart into something more. Photography was a major passion for her. Pictures of anything. Her computer was filled with pictures of the sun and sky from the summer. Snowy days in the winter. Pictures of her parents’ dog. Her uncle’s kids on birthdays. She was the official photographer of family weddings and more. But it wasn’t steady. A lot of her post-college young life had been put on hold to dote on Kael. Something she regretted but couldn’t do anything about now.

Uncle Charlie was kind to help her out and she thought starting now was better than never starting at all.

“Styles is that you?!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss yourselves in excitement,” the voice was right beside her.

“You better be fucking cleared before touching this rink,” Ray Wheeler, head coach and another surrogate uncle to her was a bit gruffer in his delivery to the players than Charlie most of the time.

The man beside her slapped his hand, paper held pressed to the glass. “Doctor-cleared for takeoff,” he called. A round of cheers went up and she snapped another picture of the excitement, ignoring the one and only Harry Styles beside her.

Harry Styles was Kael’s rival. The same draft class (although begrudgingly, Kael would admit Harry went first), and almost the same position—left forward. Fortunately, they were in different conferences, so they only ever played one another twice a season. Unless they made it to finals which hadn’t happened yet. But in her opinion, it was only a matter of time. Harry made headlines for his skill and ability, fitness, and overall dominance on the ice. He was protective of his best friend in goal—he and Niall were a pair like no other. Which meant when they did play each other, Kael knew exactly how to get under Harry’s skin.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Harry wasn’t here for her formal introduction to the team. Before she could open her mouth, Uncle Charlie was there. “That’s my niece Styles. She’s off limits so just make your way to the locker room.”

“Ah,” he smiled.

It should have been noted that in addition to skill and ability, fitness, and dominance on the ice, Harry was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His eyes were green which sure as hell meant God was in fact a woman because no man would know to make Harry even more beautiful with forest green eyes. He was tall, even taller on skates. His skin glowed in a way that should have been illegal when she spent half an hour dousing her face in ten moisturizing products each night to achieve the same look and Harry spent most of his time indoors on an ice rink. Was it the chill that made his cheeks pinker? Would she get the same glow working here all season? She could only hope.

But it was that smile that did her in. His straight teeth peeking out from his lips. The dimples. The arrogance behind the expression. The pink curve of his upturned lips went right through her as he grinned at her.

“Nice t’meet you,” he held his hand out.

“Hands off!” Charlie shouted again.

Harry chuckled as she took his hand with an eyeroll introducing herself. “I’m your photo media specialist, if you will.”

“Excellent,” Harry grinned. “Let me know if y’need me t’pose a certain way,” he winked.

She shook her head and Niall skated up to the side. “Hey Sweetheart,” he said.

“Hi, baby, I missed you,” Harry answered with a grin. Niall shook his head flipping his friend off which made her giggle. Niall remained focused on her.

“Your Uncle said you might need help walking out here.”

“Oh, do we have a skating rookie on our hands?” Harry asked. Her cheeks felt hot under the assumption. Even though it was accurate.

“I suck at skating,” she shrugged. There wasn’t any use playing it off—they would know in a matter of seconds. “I get too nervous and lose my balance,” she admitted.

They both tilted their heads at her. She knew that vulnerability wasn’t something seen on the ice. It seemed almost trivial to admit, but she knew it clearly threw them for a loop. “I can walk you out,” Harry offered with that sinfully delicious smile.

“Coach said he was going to rebreak all of your fingers if you touch her."

“Oh, please let me walk you out,” Harry practically bounced with excitement.

She worried her eyes were going to remain in the back of her head from rolling them so much, but she supposed that would come with the territory with working for a group of boys. “Thank you, Niall. I should be okay. Just don’t let anyone laugh at me too much if I fall on my butt.”

“We don’t want you t’fall on such a pretty asset, Rookie. Are y’sure I can’t help?”

She ignored Harry, keeping her eyes on Niall. “No one will laugh,” he assured her, a smile toying at his lips as he slipped his helmet back on. “I offered, but she’s stubborn like you, Coach!”

The laughter that ensued was a good distraction for her to make her move. She unlocked the rink door and stepped onto the ice following behind Niall. Each step was carefully taken, knowing the traction of her winter boots were better than any other pair of shoes she owned but would never compare to the blade of skate.

Three little steps was about as far as she could go it seemed. Right as her footing was about to be lost on her and send her to the hard ice, a hand caught her elbow and kept her upright. “Rookie, love,” he tisked. “I told you I could help.”

She looked at him briefly knowing that his good looks got him any girl he wanted. She heard the rumors of the string of girls he had (perhaps one for every city he visited) and she knew of every bad thing that Kael had to say about him. But the kindness of him to catch her was sweet. Even she couldn’t deny that. Kael merely laughed each time she fell, it wasn’t mean spirited per se, but it was almost like he was glad she couldn’t skate. A way to be better than her.

God, she wished she had taken the hint a lot sooner.

Harry’s skates weren’t even tied yet. “Jus’ wait,” he said and knelt to lace them up. She had to imagine he rushed to get out here just knowing she wouldn’t make it across the ice.

Once tied, Harry held her elbow again and skated so effortlessly beside her barely moving as he glided alongside her. No one paid attention to her slow steps, and she could feel Harry’s grip firm but not hard on her arm. Almost sensing when she was going to misstep before she did. It made her heart skip a beat.

No. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t going to fall for another hockey player ever.

“M’teaching m’niece t’skate. I can teach you,” he shrugged. It wasn’t arrogant the way he said it. She was sure anyone else that knew she was in their mid-twenties (especially someone with a famous hockey player for an ex-boyfriend of eight years, and famous major league hockey coach for an uncle) would expect her to be able to skate. Instead, one of the top players in the league was at her elbow barely acknowledging that it was weird. Perhaps the vulnerability she mentioned to him and Niall really meant something to him. Or maybe she was just reading into it—which she definitely shouldn’t have been reading into it.

“It’s a real shame you won’t have that hand to play with after all, Harry,” Uncle Charlie shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Charlie, I can handle a group of boys,” she rolled her eyes again, earning a bout of laughter from the group. But she knew that Uncle Charlie was worried about Harry specifically. He was a lot like Kael. In another life, Harry would have been a weakness for her. But not anymore. She was done with hockey guys.

“M’jus’ making sure she doesn’t fall. Sad y’couldn’t teach her t’skate. Some uncle you are,” he shrugged casually.

The group laughed again, and she smirked. Charlie ignored the childish behavior of his players but rubbed his middle finger on his nose like he had an itch aimed for Harry “They’re all yours, Sweetheart. Just tell them where you want them. They’ve all been instructed to listen carefully unless they want to do suicides tomorrow at practice, so be honest if they don’t listen. Or lie if you see fit,” Uncle Charlie remarked making everyone groan. “Harry, go get your gear she needs individual pictures too.”

His eyes flickered to Niall for several seconds. Right as he released her arm, Niall now stood beside her and waited for direction. He didn’t hold her elbow like Harry did, but it was clear there was an unspoken message they shared telepathically. That little flutter in her chest made it’s appearance once more solely because Harry was kind to her about her inability to skate.

No, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She wasn’t going to fall for the hot left wing of her uncle’s team just because he offered to teach her to skate and didn’t make fun of her because she couldn’t.

Nope. She wasn’t.

Not even a little.

Right?

The boys were decidedly sweet. Despite the fact it was like trying to wrangle a group of twenty toddlers into one spot. They sat nicely for their headshots individually, but once she tried to get them into various poses and group shots with their respective lines it proved a little more difficult. (Don’t even get her started on how the whole team shot went).

Harry stood beside her while she took pictures of everyone but him. His presence was comforting in a way she didn’t want to admit so readily. It had been less than an hour since she spoke to him. When he returned with all his gear in place, he held a small rug that the coaches often used to stand at center ice and call drills. He laid it before her feet, and she didn’t have to worry as much about falling. Niall was her test subject in front of the goal. When she wanted to get another angle, Harry scooped up the little mat and held her elbow and let her guide while he slid alongside her at a pace that was much too slow for a professional hockey player. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I see?” He asked while the others skated around, messing around at the other end of the rink. She was now at the bench where she was safe from slipping. Harry leaned over the rail, dropping his gloves onto the wooden seat beside her. She offered her camera to him. Carefully he cradled it, like he knew it really was precious to her. Silently, he looked at the little screen. A smile grew on his face as he admired how his pictures came out. “These are awesome, Rookie.”

“Thank you,” did her cheeks feel warmer from the compliment? She smiled softly as he looked through several photos of himself. Harry Styles was lucky he didn’t have a bad side. Not that she would tell him that.

“How come y’didn’t do this for Crowe’s team?” He asked clicking through photos of his teammates.

She blinked, the smile melting from her face. “You know about me and Kael?”

“Well, yeah. S’the whole hands-off talk Coach gave us. Said you’re done with hockey players,” Harry shrugged one shoulder, his gaze focused on the lines and group shots on the screen of her camera. “Fortunately for me, I don’t consider your ex a real hockey player,” he smiled at the screen. “But I haven’t told Coach ‘bout that loophole jus’ yet.”

She snorted and shook her head. The flirty comment was cute. She could admit that. Plus, a dig at her shitty ex made her feel a little lighter. But she wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s easy-going charisma.

If she repeated it to herself enough, it would stick.

“I will not be dating real and-or imaginary hockey players,” she told him.

“At least give me a chance t’change your mind, Rookie,” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she shook her head politely. He frowned. She laughed softly. “You genuinely look down by my answer.”

“Hell yeah,” he scowled. “Y’take pretty pictures and y’wrangled this ragtag group,” he sighed almost dreamily. “And you’re absolutely beautiful t’boot.”

That made her smile, at least. He was an expert flirter. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”

“Enough t’let me take you on a date?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed again. “Thank you for helping me around the ice,” she said graciously. “I’ll tell Uncle Charlie you were a perfect gentleman after he left.”

“Rookie, love, you’ll ruin m’reputation,” he called after her as she made her way around the rink toward the exit.

Her apartment was not in the nice part of town. To be fair, it was only just over the border from the nicer side. From her place she could see the bar she would be working at on the days she wouldn’t be at the rink. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie about it because she knew he would be pissed if he saw where she lived. But it was the right price and honestly, the other tenants weren’t bad.

She suspected one of her neighbors on the first floor was... an entrepreneur... for his... small business. Michael was very wary of her at first, but she was lucky because he wore a hockey jersey the day, she met him, Callie’s number and name on the front and back. She hadn’t gone to the rink yet because she was getting a lot of her things and affairs settled. That evening she moved in, she got him tickets to a home game through her uncle (along with a dozen cookies to welcome herself to the building). To his credit, Michael looked weary that the tickets were fake, but the cookies were good. They weren’t special seats or anything, but they weren’t bad seats either. He knocked on her door the day after the game and it was clear she wasn’t going to have any issues with her neighbor. “That was cool. If you need anything, I got you,” he assured her with a grin. “That car you got, I’ll keep an eye on it for you when you’re not around... you’re too sweet to be living here.”

She smiled. “Thanks Michael.”

On the second floor lived an older couple. They kept to themselves, but she was sure to give them a dozen cookies as well and offered to shovel out their cars when it snowed. But once Michael saw her out there shoveling, he joined her as well. She brought a hockey stick autographed by the whole team for their grandson. She couldn’t wait to hear how he enjoyed that Christmas gift.

Her neighbor on the third floor just down the hall was Marcellus. He went by Marc and told her that he had a boyfriend and if she had an issue with that, it was too fucking bad. The previous tenant must have been a piece of work. She laughed at him, handed off her dozen cookies and shrugged. “If he breaks your heart, I have a team of hockey boys who can take him on,” she giggled.

So, Marc loved her too.

She wouldn’t be jogging around the neighborhood any time soon, but it was nice she wouldn’t have to worry about her car being stolen (although good luck to anyone who tried to get that piece of crap to start without a prayer), or getting robbed on her way into the building.

Inside her little studio apartment was a small kitchen. There was enough space for a small loveseat, a bed, and TV. She had a coffee table and a counter to sit at for breakfast. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and modern for a rundown studio apartment building.

After a full day at the rink, she was chilly. A shower was just what she needed before she ventured into the cold again. Letting the hot water soothe her cold neck and back was so nice. While her hair air-dried, she transferred and then sifted through her pictures on her laptop. The edits she made were small. The lighting and shadows only needed to be adjusted a little. She loved the natural look of the of the players in their element.

She forwarded the photos to Charlie for approval, and he would send them to the higher ups for printing.

They look stunning, Sweetheart. Incredible job.

Grinning she looked over the photos she took of Harry again. He was by far the best-looking guy on the team (not that the others weren’t good-looking but alas). Even in the photos where you couldn’t see his pretty face, there was a presence that made him look more attractive. It was obvious he was a good player. His talent was evident in the photos, and she was proud of herself for being able to capture it.

There was a knock on her door. She padded quietly across the room, peeked through the peephole to see Marc, before she opened it. “Hi,” she smiled.

“You have to teach me hockey,” he said. “This man is obsessed, and I don’t even know what you call the ball.”

“Puck.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. He glanced around her apartment. “Your talents are wasted on this run-down place—holy hottie, who’s that?”

Her computer screen remained on Harry’s smiling individual photo. Dimples on full display and looking intense but happy. “That’s Harry Styles.”

“I think I’ll like hockey after all.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Listen, I have a shift I have to get to, but there’s a game on tomorrow afternoon, come over and we’ll watch it, and I’ll teach you,” she offered.

“Bring flashcards of the players. It’ll make me more interested.”

She tied the apron around her waist as he sifted through the photos. “God damn, is this what all hockey players look like?” He asked.

“Bye Marc,” she pulled his arm and pushed him toward her door. “See you tomorrow.”

The Locker Room was a local restaurant owned by Louis Tomlinson. It was a hot spot for the players to go to on off days and after a win (they refrained from going after a loss unless absolutely necessary). The fans that went were not allowed to be aggressive about the players, but after a while, they got used to seeing the players so often, it became a nice place to be themselves.

Asher and Lang were playing darts while Niall and Callie focused on a game of pool. Harry sat back sipping his beer analyzing his contacts looking for the hookup he wanted for the evening. They had curfew at midnight since there was a game tomorrow evening which left him with ample time to peruse his list, meet up with the girl, and get home by midnight before he turned into a pumpkin.

“Who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Louis asked clapping a hand on Harry’s back.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he chuckled.

“Well, when the new waitress comes over, you are not to make her uncomfortable. I already warned her.”

“I would never,” he rolled his eyes, still scanning the names.

“Uh-huh,” Louis nodded. “Of course. Tell your teammates too. She’s off limits.”

“What’s up with every new girl being off limits in our life?” Callie asked.

“Coach won’t let us date his niece and you won’t let us date the new girl,” Niall explained to Louis for clarification.

“Fortunately, it’s the same person, so you don’t have to lose out on two girls.”

Harry pulled away from his screen to admire the pretty girl he met at the rink earlier in the day. His grin grew. “Oh, Rookie, it’s you,” he cooed.

“Oh Jesus,” Louis sighed. “Watch out for that one, love,” he patted her on the back.

“So, I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Is she ours?” Asher asked excitedly.

“As long as you don’t torture her,” Louis shrugged.

“We would never!”

“Eleanor refuses to set foot back here because of you all.”

“Hire meaner waitstaff.”

“Best of luck, love,” Louis shook his head.

“What can I get you guys?” She asked sweetly.

“Uncle Charlie doesn’t pay you enough that you have to slum it here?” Lang asked.

“I heard that!” Louis shouted.

Harry was...quite taken. From the moment he laid eyes on her. The concentration on her face as she took pictures, the way her hair was pinned up, how bundled she was. Her smile was sexy. The quips that spilt from her mouth perhaps even sexier. Harry was certain she was a dream because good things at the rink consisted of goals, interviews, and the pizza from the snack bar. Not a pretty girl with an expensive camera and his assistant coach as her uncle.

Now her hair was still pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, and the black and silver uniform as homage to his own. Harry wanted her draped in the number eleven and his name on her back ASAP.

It was cute she couldn’t skate. Cute how passionate she was on day one taking pictures. She wasn’t flustered by their rowdiness, or their annoying nature. Harry knew that she was used to hockey boys—had to be if her ex was one of the top forwards in the league (although Harry didn’t recognize that too often). He liked how she didn’t take shit from them but was still kind. She was funny, creative, and lovely.

And he only saw her in action for a short time.

But it was enough to make him put his phone away and not think about hooking up with someone tonight. His focus would be on her waiting on the team and (hopefully) getting to know her more so he could rationalize falling for someone so out of his league and someone so off limits.

“Hi Rookie, love,” Harry smiled as she approached his table. She took orders from the other four hanging around.

“Hi Harry,” she answered.

“M’happy to see you again.”

She nodded. “It’s only been a few hours, Harry.”

“S’too long t’go without seeing your pretty face,” he assured her.

She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed how her cheeks flushed with color. “What do you want to drink?” She asked instead.

“Are you on the menu?”

“Does that work on other girls?��

“Yes.”

“It’s probably because of the hockey thing you have going on. I promise it wouldn’t work if you weren’t a professional,” she shrugged.

“Good thing m’very professional,” he continued, his voice flirty.

“I’m putting down whatever the other guys said,” she shook her head and headed off to get the drinks.

“Harry, don’t bother her. Coach said she’s off-limits,” Niall reminded him while Callie took his shot.

“Yeah, she doesn’t strike me as one-night-stand material,” Asher murmured focusing on his dart going directly into the board.

“Mmm,” Harry sighed. In the brief interaction he had with her, he kind of figured that too. In fact, given she had been with Crowe for nearly a decade, he imagined she didn’t have too much experience dating other than her ex. Not that he would force her—or any woman. Like he said they all knew what they signed up for. Harry wasn’t great at the whole relationship thing. He was constantly traveling with the team. Practice most days, games most nights. Relationships were often one-sided and tiresome. It wasn’t fair to expect someone to wait for five months of the year to have a relationship.

One-night stands were better for him.

But he could at least ask her if she was willing to try him out. God, knew he wanted to try her out the second he looked at her.

“Your drinks,” she announced setting them on Harry’s table. He eyed her as she set the drinks down from the little tray in her arm. “Do you guys want food?” She asked.

“Are you on the menu now?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lang shook his head.

“You’re embarrassing us, Styles,” Callie sighed.

“Chicken wings, you said?” She asked scribbling on the pad of paper in her hand. “Great choice. Do you want anything else?” Harry smiled, opened his mouth to speak but she turned immediately. “Not you,” she said over her shoulder and sauntered over to the pool table. Lang and Asher chuckled to themselves at Harry’s strike out.

“You’re our hero, Sweetheart,” Asher sighed dreamily.

When Harry was on the ice there were zero thoughts of anything but slicing up the ice with the blade of his skate. He thought about the opponent across from him. The puck sliding across the ice and into the net. Protecting Niall in goal if anyone dared to lay a hand on him.

But now when they had timeouts, or when he was waiting for the puck to come up to him, he saw the pretty girl with her camera lens pressed to the glass, or in the cut out for the press. Her little badge draped around her neck looked so cute. Everything about her was cute and dainty.

Crowe was a fucking idiot to let her go.

Which made him wonder why he chose to break up with someone so pretty and witty. Creative as well.

Fuck. Coach was going to kill him.

But she really stood her ground. In the month that she had been part of the team, she seemed damn near impervious to Harry’s flirting. Harry worked hard to make her blush (which he could see was easy) but it took a lot to make her speechless. It was obvious Crowe didn’t treat her well. It seemed like Harry’s attention to her was the only time she had been shown affection. That alone pissed him off and made him hate him more. It was like she had never been told how pretty she was. Even when Harry wasn’t actively flirting with her, when he complimented her hair or how her pictures came out, she seemed completely off-guard.

What a fucking dick.

Harry once more wondered why they broke up. He still hadn’t figured it out. There was no way she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. Especially for a hockey player. For all the reasons Harry didn’t date, she knew precisely what she was getting into and did it anyway. But she doted on his teammates as if she was dating all of them (there was no other way to describe it.) She always had extra tape for sticks. She walked with her cross body filled with supplies for hangovers, minor injuries, and the like. When she waited on them at Louis’ place, she knew their orders and had them ready almost like clockwork for when they arrived.

“Styles!” Coach Wheeler called. “If you’re not going to practice, you can sit out!” He shouted.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid his mind of the team’s photographer. The coach’s niece. His pretty waitress.

The star of all his dreams as of late.

“Sweetheart, where do you want us?!” Lang called.

She was on the bench, waiting to take some gameday photos. Today she was wearing skates, which made Harry nervous. He knew if she went down, she would protect her precious camera and he didn’t blame her, but it he hated the thought of her getting hurt. “Just by the—” She sighed, closing her eyes mid-sentence and she put her phone to her ear. “Stop fucking calling,” she snapped and then put her phone in her pocket again. “By the goal,” she cleared her throat.

The team stared at her. “Do you have a stalker, babe?” Asher asked.

“No,” she snorted and looked at her camera. She took a test shot of the empty net to make sure everything was set. She stepped tentatively onto the ice, more graceful than the last time she did. But Harry glided over to her quickly. He didn’t touch her, but he was more than ready to catch her. She ignored his presence, not in a mean way at all. Not an ounce of her was mean. Which is why it was so surprising she had that much malice in her voice on the phone.

“Everything okay, Sweetheart?” Charlie asked.

“Yup,” she popped the ‘puh’ sound.

She slid forward very carefully. “S’kind of shooting yourself in the foot here, Rookie. Figure skates have a better blade for beginners. S’harder t’skate on hockey skates for what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I was always told a hockey blade was thicker, so it was better.”

Harry shrugged. “S’not really that big of a deal in m’opinion. Figure skates have a longer blade, better for y’balance. Charlie set y’up with those?” She shook her head.

“No,” her voice was quiet.

“You bought hockey skates on your own?”

“Can you go stand with your team?” She asked dodging his question. He frowned.

“Yeah, sorry, Rookie, love,” he skated off but whistled at his younger teammate, Garrett, the third string forward for his position. Harry tilted his head in her direction and Garrett went over to her, standing way too far away in case she did fall.

“Who got her the skates?” He mumbled to Charlie. He shrugged.

“Not sure. Probably Kael. I would imagine he got a deal from his sponsors.”

God Harry hated him.

Mila was someone he saw on a semi-regular basis. Which meant she knew the drill. After their win, they would do their thing. Harry would stay until she fell asleep—because he wasn’t an asshole; and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he liked cuddling. Even if it was only for a little while—and he would send a text the next day to make sure she felt okay. There was no breakfast, no awkward small talk. Just sex. There was no setup to get feelings hurt or hearts broken. Harry was too busy for a girlfriend, and he would make for a shitty boyfriend.

It was cold when he left her place, and he blew into his hands for warmth when he as he headed to his car. There was a text on his phone from an unknown number.

Thought you would want to see the picture that’s on the front page of the sports section for tomorrow :) There was an impressive picture of Harry’s game winning goal. It wasn’t time sensitive but it was the one that broke the tie. The rest of the team held off the offensive line for the remaining ten minutes of the game.

Thanks, Rookie. I’m going to send it to Mum. She’ll print it for the fridge. How’d you get my number?

Kian gave it to me. Is that alright?

Who?

Callie 🙄 You should really learn your friends’ names. Is it okay I have your number?

Of course it’s alright. Just surprised YOU asked for it. Didn’t know you would want to talk to me so bad. You could have asked me yourself.

Sorry, I think have the wrong number.

He chuckled to himself while his car warmed up. The seat heater was heaven on his stiff muscles. Harry liked the cold—he had to being a hockey player. But it was her funny wit that warmed him from the inside out. Are you all still at Louis’?

Yes. Niall and Noah are about to break the air hockey machine.

Who?

🙄 Asher. Sorry. Jesus.

I’ll be right there, Rookie.

The next time the team won, Harry looked at the message from Layla asking if he wanted to come over to celebrate. He didn’t really want to. The guys were headed home because they had an early flight and there was no celebrating. Which meant that the pretty girl he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t going to be out and about either. She wouldn’t be doting on his drunk teammates. Wouldn’t be stopping their stupid fights about who’s turn it was to play her in darts. She wouldn’t be making sure they all made it home safely in the Ubers she ordered.

But Harry couldn’t just hang out with her either. There was no reason. She was basically his teammate and he couldn’t figure why she was so guarded. At least not beyond whatever it was she was dealing with Crowe.

“Is he still calling?” Niall asked looking at her phone the bench while she looked at her camera. Her hair always fell so perfectly as she watched the screen.

“Who?” Lang asked.

She sighed. “It’s just Kael.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

She shrugged. “I would have to answer to find out. Which is the last thing I want to do. I need a new phone number; I just haven’t gotten around to it. My schedule conflicts with most regular business hours so I could go to the store.”

“Charlie, you can’t spare her to give her a day off?” Asher asked.

Her uncle rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and continued practicing with the second and third stringers.

Harry sat beside her and peeked over her shoulder at her photos. “Do y’have any non-hockey photos?” She nodded and picked up her phone that was still showing Crowe blowing up her phone with calls and texts. “Why don’t y’block him, Rookie?” She swiped his notification away and she opened the web browser. It was currently on a recipe for carrot cake cupcakes. “Those look good,” he smiled.

She smirked. “It’s Ray’s birthday next week. Carrot cake is his favorite. Figured I’d make you all cupcakes.”

Harry thought she was too sweet for him. Someone with a lineup of women didn’t deserve her sweetness. Someone who was meeting Arya at her place after practice because he could didn’t get a girl like her. Him meeting Nyla after tomorrow’s away game three states away didn’t get someone like the pretty photographer.

Kael’s name kept popping up. “Y’probably never had t’block anybody before,” Harry said quietly. “D’you know how?” He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of blocking someone every now and again.

“I know how,” she laughed softly. “It’s just... with Kael, it’s likely to be a thing, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s easier to ignore him.”

“It probably gives him hope,” Harry frowned.

She held out her phone to him and shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I’ll see him in a couple weeks when we’re up North,” she reminded him. “Hopefully by then he’ll get the message; or I’ll have to talk to him in person.”

Harry took her phone and admired the portfolio of photos she displayed for him. The website was all black making her images pop. She was so talented. There were babies and weddings. There were family portraits and just general landscape shots. All of differing but equal beauty and perfection. Natural. Lovely.

Harry swiped away Kael’s name again and clicked on the menu item of the about section.

Two side by side pictures of the pretty girl next to him were on the screen. One with the camera in front of her eye, the other a sweet smile on her face camera in front of her like a prop. Behind the Lens... Thank you for browsing. If you like what you see, I’d be happy to quote you for any need. I have experience in just about any area of photographing. Thank you for letting me part of you day!

Too sweet for someone who was going to never be able to settle down because of his job. No matter how much he wished she could be part of his day.

Kael’s stupid name popped up again. Without another rational thought, Harry answered the call, pressed the phone to his ear, and skated off knowing she couldn’t go after him.

“Finally, baby,” Kael groaned.

“STYLES HOW DARE YOU!” She screamed.

“Crowe, nice t’hear from you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” He growled.

“HARRY!” She was on the ice in her ever-present boots. They weren’t great for walking on ice. She slipped immediately but Lang was right nearby to help her up. Harry was going to feel guilty about that for ages.

“None of your business,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want y’calling anymore.”

“What the fuck? Put her on the phone!”

“No,” Harry said defiantly. “She doesn’t want t’talk t’you. Ever. Stop calling y’piece of shit.”

Lang looked at Harry wildly as he glided with the pretty girl clutching to his arm. She smacked Harry multiple times on the arm and chest making the coaches laugh. “Give me the phone!” She snapped.

“Give her the phone!” He repeated. “Listen to her!”

“No, y’don’t deserve her,” Harry stepped out of her reach where she lost her balance as she lunged for him. She fell again catching her hands. Thank God she didn’t have her camera. Lang helped her to her feet again and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him again. “Y’didn’t appreciate her, her talent, or anything. Y’didn’t get her the right skates, and I don’t know what y’did t’piss her off so bad, but y’not getting her back,” Harry said it so casually. But every word was meant for her.

“Is that you, Styles?” Crowe snarled.

“Bye Crowe, see you in a month!” He said cheerily handing the phone off to her.

She nearly fell again despite holding onto Lang. “What the hell, Harry!”

“I got rid of him,” he shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Her face was beat red with embarrassment. Her hands had to be cold from the fall. But she still looked adorable as always. Even with a sour expression, she was sweet. Pretty beyond belief. Wide eyes, soft skin, even her nose was cute. She glared at him and spun on her heel. “Get me away from him,” she snapped.

Harry sighed, feeling bummed he pissed her off too much. Lang shook his head at Harry as he helped her back to the bench. She packed up her things and left.

But he couldn’t help but notice that her phone had stopped ringing.

She was still mad at him a week later. If she ignored his flirting before, this was an entire new level. She hardly acknowledged his presence. He missed her. In a weird way. He enjoyed bugging her, but perhaps it went to far. It was an invasion of her personal life that he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t really have any right to deal with her ex-boyfriend.

That didn’t mean anything he said wasn’t anything but the truth.

“Hey Rookie,” he said as she entered the room to get their drink orders for the evening.

“Hi everybody,” she grinned at everyone in turn and glared at Harry.

“Boy you pissed her off,” Niall chuckled.

He shrugged. “Worth it,” because it was. He hated Kael before, he hoped he got the clue.

“You know she had to talk to him, right?” Callie asked. Harry’s head snapped up from his phone screen looking at his contacts once more. Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it exactly but his evenings with the women in his phone were leaving him less and less fulfilled. He wasn’t looking for any grand pronouncements of love. That wasn’t his thing. But the idea of spending the evening with someone didn’t give him the same excitement as it used to.

It was probably the day he met her. But it was sinking in more over the week she had barely spoken to him. “What do y’mean?” He frowned.

“Crowe? She had to talk to him after that stunt you pulled.”

Harry glowered at the table. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone and he was threatening to come to her if she didn’t just talk to him. Why do you think she didn’t come with us on the plane the next day?”

Harry felt like a jerk. “Oh.”

“She hates you,” Asher reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “She could have told one of us,” he mumbled. Harry would have sat outside her apartment waiting for him.

“I don’t know if you noticed Harry, but she’s pretty private,” Niall sighed leaning on his pool stick. “I know you meant well, but it kind of fucked up her day.”

Harry pouted. He met her gaze as she brought their drinks out.

And if she spilled Harry’s on him, well, he supposed he deserved that.

Harry was a great hockey player, a great friend. A great brother and son. Not to toot his own horn but he thought he truly was the World’s Best Uncle like it said on the T-shirt Gemma had got him when she told him she was pregnant. He was still pretty humble all things considered; always looking to improve. Coach Wheeler was one of his favorite mentors (right after his mum) and he strived to do better by them.

He was bad at Chemistry in school. He wasn’t good at Sudoku. Most recently he felt like he was bad at having sex. The thing he had going with the women he knew didn’t seem to be working for him the way it used to. There was an awkwardness to the hookups when he left. He wasn’t mentally present in the moment.

Harry was pretty certain he would be a shitty boyfriend.

He needed her forgiveness, or the other remaining areas of his life were going to get worse too.

Most notably, he was shit in practice. He worried he was going to be demoted to second string.

Harry arrived early to practice, putting goals in the net two hours before everyone else arrived. He would have to pay to resurface the ice twenty minutes before practice officially started. But he hoped that she was going to show up early with her carrot cake cupcakes. He anticipated she would be just one short. Which Harry deserved on top of everything else too.

Fortunately, she did arrive early.

“Hey,” he waved.

She ignored him, set the cupcakes down on the bench and pulled out her camera. She fiddled with it, wiping the lens off with a cloth, and took some test shots of the ice.

“Rookie, love,” he sighed and skated over to the bench.

“Yes, Mr. Styles? Can I help you?”

“C’mon, Rookie, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I was just trying to help.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You must get whatever you want all the time.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t actually,” although from her perspective he could see what she meant.

“Well, me either, so if I’m going to be miserable. So are you.”

He snorted, shook his head. He stepped off the ice and sat on the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. Really. I hated that he was bothering you. I didn’t mean t’make it worse, honest. I would have done the same for m’sister or any one of the guys’ girls.”

“I am an adult Harry. I’m independent and I can handle my own shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I understand. M’sorry, really. I won’t do it again. But m’sick of y’being mad at me. S’been no fun this week without skating you around, grossly overtipping you jus’ so you’ll spend extra time with us,” he smiled shyly at her.

She sucked her lip into her mouth. For a moment she looked at her lap, obviously thinking something over. “How’d you know he bought me the wrong skates?” Her voice was quiet.

Harry blinked wondering how long she had that question locked and loaded. He shrugged. “I asked Charlie. He said he didn’t. So, I assumed it had to be him.”

She sighed and looked up. “He said figure skates would make me look like try-hard. Hockey skates would make me look more like I belonged on his arm,” she explained. “I didn’t know. I would have...” she shook her head. “It was eye-opening when you said that, and it hurt... and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry too.”

Harry sighed with relief. “You don’t have t’apologize,” he promised. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

“Apology accepted.”

Harry grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks Bunny.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “I don’t like Bunny.”

“Oh...” his smile grew by the second. “Y’don’t Rookie, love?” He chuckled standing up and getting back on the ice. “Y’probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he winked and skated off.

“There’s no cupcake for you!” She called.

“That’s okay, Bunny!” He shouted back with a grin and sank a shot from half-ice.

Maybe Harry would be a shitty boyfriend, but he was going to be her best friend instead.

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sad-wet-cat-hannibal · 7 hours ago

Text

(Essay incoming so I'm adding a read more)

I think you've said some good stuff here, and I too get annoyed or even angered by people using the term in a way that I interpret as flippant; but I'd like to add that as someone who frequently described distressing books and films as "traumatising", it turned out that that word was rather apt - because my intense response was caused by my trauma being triggered by those very same things, too often in ways that felt like reliving it.

Here's the kicker. I didn't know I *had* any trauma. All I knew was that engaging with these works made me feel distressed and disturbed as if I were personally traumatised by these things. Like they were real. Like they damaged me. Just from reading them or seeing them. They'd haunt me for weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years. Sometimes they gave me weird symptoms I couldn't explain. So, naturally, I was hyper-avoidant as fuck.

That intense sensitivity and hyper-avoidance, combined with my ignorance to the fact that my psyche was not experiencing these things from an untraumatised position, meant I thought that "intensely distressing/traumatising" was just the normal effect these things had - except lots of other people seemed oblivious, and even delighted in the exact same works. Sometimes none more so than the kind of motherfuckers who actually like traumatising people.

So I figured, as incomprehensible as it seemed, everyone else had to be either too numbed out/oblivious/naïve to realise how awful this shit was, or were actually big fans of bad things happening in real life.

Because if to me it felt too real, capable of destroying my peace of mind for weeks, then surely to some extent that must be the same for everyone else, right? (Obviously not, but I was younger and working with what limited knowledge I had.) From that logic it's really easy to buy into censorship, into propaganda that claims that the symptoms of a society with a dysfunctional approach to life are often born of the media that echoes them, rather than the other way round. It's real to you. It's your only explanation. (You don't want to feel like this. You don't want anyone to feel like this. It's inhumane.)

What I'm trying to say is that not everyone knows they're traumatised. I think as many as those who do, do not. Perhaps far more. And for those people, the only time they are able to touch on the truth of their half-veiled iceberg is when they tell you that The Bridge to Terabithia "traumatised" them.

(I know it "did" me.)

Telling them they're exaggerating, and misusing language that doesn't apply to them runs the very real risk of making it harder for them to treat their feelings with the consideration and weight they deserve, and enabling them to begin the process of unraveling their denial and tending their wounds. It runs the risk of reinforcing the (potentially forgotten or minimised) messaging they may have already received, during and after the trauma, that it doesn't matter. They're exaggerating. They're making things up. Other people have trauma, other people have it so much worse, other people suffer - but not you. Your account of your experience is unbelievable. Silly. You will not be seen or heard or understood, not by anyone else, and not by yourself...

Yet. Hopefully one day. But I think it often takes other people being willing to shine a light on the pain, and say, "Yeah, it's real. It's caused by things. You aren't alone and you aren't exaggerating."

I think the flippant watering down of the word is potentially very unhelpful too, but there's a section of society who want to push the narrative that the vast majority of people speaking seriously and from a place of relevant psycho-education about their trauma are just special snowflakes jumping on a trend. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel wary of adding fuel to their fire by trying to gatekeep trauma. I don't know what the solution to these two conflicting uses of the word is, or if it's even possible to create a solution that doesn't simultaneously police the traumatised out of expressing their pain the only way they currently know how. Which would set back the whole thing of trying to help people... We get enough trauma olympics ingrained into everyone as it is.

Oh yeah!! Just remembered, Gabor Mate said in either his book from 2024 or an interview about it that he considers everyone to be traumatised, the question is simply one of degree (if I'm remembering correctly). So from that it may in fact be possible to argue that books and films can traumatise people, although perhaps not necessarily to the extent we might associate with PTSD or CPTSD.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

#Me saying things to myself over invisible pumpkin pie #I think I would genuinely have struggled even more to own that I was traumatised if I experienced this level of language policing #It's upsetting #Feel sick writing this yay for stress responses

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jinnie-ret · 1 day ago

Text

make you feel my love

stray kids x ninth member! reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: death (not skz or reader), reason for death not mentioned

word count: 3.2k

summary: the boys help and rescue their fellow member through one of the hardest things she's had to do, all over again - grieve.

requested by: @lieslovefantasy

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤 MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Have you got everything?” Hyunjin fussed over you, wanting to make sure you were fully packed, knowing how forgetful you were.

“Yes, I'm sure, it's okay,” you chuckled, finding his concern over your organisation quite endearing.

“We've got to check these things, knowing you,” Changbin came up from behind, patting your head affectionately.

“You two are acting like concerned parents,” Felix laughed, standing between Chan and Hyunjin, the three of them being the only ones to stay behind at their respective apartments during the scheduled break before comeback. They would get lonely, surely?

Or so you thought.

“Yah, Felix, Jisungie just told me that you're using our apartment to host? Since when?” Seungmin groaned, carry on bag in hand as he approached, the others behind him with grins on their faces.

“I've always wanted to host! It'll be fun,” Felix rolled his eyes at Seungmin playfully, knowing he meant well.

“I don't want paint everywhere.”

“Okay.”

“And don't burn our apartment down.”

“You love my brownies.”

“And Chan don't- umm, there's nothing to really say, you don't do anything wrong,” Seungmin began, not having something to hold over the leader of your group.

“Aw, thanks, I loveeee you Seungmin-”

“You're responsible and old so…”

“Ah, there it is,” Chan sighed in disappointment, his taunting smile quickly dropping from his face.

“Yah! Is this your suitcase? Have you snuck our whole apartment in here or what?” Changbin complained, lifting your large suitcase into Minho's car. And that was saying something, considering he was the strongest in the group.

“I need options!” you fiddle with the strings of your hoodie.

“So you're bringing your wardrobe with you? Even I haven't packed that much,” Jeongin's eyes widened when he noticed the size of your suitcase. Poor guy was in for a long journey home tomorrow all the way down to Busan. You were only off to Gimpo with Minho. Not as far in comparison.

“We’ve known forever how indecisive they are,” Minho shut the boot of the car, turning around with a slight quirk of the lips.

“This will be a fun car journey,” you deadpan.

“You can always walk,” Minho shrugged.

“Or you could sit on the top of the car and hold on tightly. That would be kinda fun,” Jisung mused with an excited look in his eyes.

“I'm not doing that.”

“They're not doing that.”

“Aw you do care!” you wrap your arms around Minho and jostle him about a bit until he gets fed up and steps away.

“Woah! If I did that I'd be tasting tissues for the foreseeable future!” Hyunjin shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, we're not starting this now, they're going to be late in meeting their families again,” Chan quickly intervened, being the first to start a large round of hugs.

And with that, you all said your goodbyes. You mentally prepared yourself for the lonesome feeling that would soon overcome you the instant you set foot in Gimpo. It was never nice, never pleasant nor fun saying goodbye to the guys. Even if it was just for a couple of weeks, you knew you'd have to find something to occupy your time to prevent your mind from wandering.

When you finally left the chaos that seemed to follow you and your fellow members, you peacefully sat in the passenger's seat next to Minho as he drove, watching a flurry of trees rush past. Well, that's what you always liked to imagine, nature running away so that you could have a moment to yourself, stagnant with no worries on your mind. Although, it was hard to feel worried at all when you had Minho cutely singing along to Yoasobi in that soft, soothing voice of his.

“Maccas?” Minho suddenly asked, glancing at your distracted form out of the corner of his eye as he tried to focus on the road.

“Maccas?” you suddenly giggled at the word, “Did Felix and Chan teach you that?”

“Ah, Hyunjinnie started saying it I think,” Minho hummed in thought, the honorary Aussie coming to mind. He made a turn for the fast food restaurant nonetheless, just in case you did want some food. He was right.

“This kimchi burger is unreal,” your eyes practically bulged out in delight as you ate in content.

“Better than your mum's bulgogi?” Minho teased, but it made you pause at the thought. You really did miss her food.

“Nothing beats her bulgogi, you know that,” you smiled weakly. Perhaps Minho would have caught onto your solemn tone if not for the mixed playlist of hyperpop and Japanese pop in the background.

“Yeah, you use her recipe enough times. So do I though, it's really good,” Minho acknowledges with a smile.

“The taste of home,” you add on, gaze drifting back outside as you finish your food, watching a child and their parents with their hands intertwined, swinging them with each step. You missed the innocence you once held, ignorantly blissful in moments of pure joy. You'd give anything to have that again.

“You packed a lot,” Minho mentioned casually.

“Yeah the others already pointed that out…?” you questioned his statement, not knowing what he was getting at.

“Like I said, it's good to have options,” you shrugged, pulling at your hoodie strings to feel more snug and secure. You panicked internally.

“You could just wash them at home though,” Minho smirked, finding your reasoning to be making your life more difficult, when really it was the best option you had if you didn't want to be paying to use a launderette.

“Options,” you said one word and left it at that.

Minho simply shrugged but remained quiet, suspicious of this slightly tense persona you were now presenting. Soon enough, however, you were back in Gimpo, your designated location for when it came to having breaks. You were going to stay at your apartment you shared with Changbin and Hyunjin, but you didn't want to have any questions to answer. Especially today, it made sense for you to pay homage, in a sense.

“Oh, Min, can you drop me off here?” you sat up more, realising you were close.

“Here?” he paused, not driving of course, but in his karaoke.

“Yeah I'm meeting my family for lunch,” you replied, pointing out a left turning down a street you had walked many times before.

“Oh who with?”

“I just said, Minho, my family.”

It was a hard word to say, family, because in your heart you knew the only family you had left were the boys. When you lived a lie for this long, eight years deep, maybe more if you included your trainee years, pretending to see people who only existed in photos, memories and dreams was doing you more damage than you'd ever like to admit.

“Your mum? Dad? Me and the others want to meet them some day, you know? It would be nice to finally try the famous bulgogi from the chef herself,” Minho grinned playfully as he found a car park to drop you off in.

She made the best food, your mum. It truly felt like each time you made her recipe for yourself and the boys, you were 14 years old all over again, sat at the dining table with both of your parents. A dark oak, wooden table with white roses sat in a uniquely crafted vase you had made and painted as a child. Photos lined the walls surrounding the dining room, ones you had now kept safely in your apartment.

“Oh! They're here! I'm gonna be late for our, umm, reservation,” you fumbled with your tote bag before stepping out of the car. Really it was just a reminder of your hotel room being ready. You round the car and Minho helps you take out your huge suitcase. Did anyone mention it was a big suitcase?

“Bye, aegi, see you soon,” Minho pats your head before getting into his car and starting it up again. You waved with the most genuine smile you could paint on your face before taking a deep breath and walking past the restaurants that lined the streets.

In all it's grandeur, sleek tiled floors, the fresh smell of bergamot pumped into the lobby and a chandelier just for measure, the hole in your heart could never truly be healed despite your familiarity with the hotel. Hauling your luggage behind you, with each step you took there was a slight relief, knowing that you had once again managed to keep your secret safe and buried from the boys. Approaching the front desk, your mind whirring with unspoken words, you smiled politely with extra effort in an attempt to not think about the date.

“Umm, hi, room for one, under the name…” you began quietly, “yeah, that's the one.” You could already hear Changbin in your mind, willing you to speak with more confidence.

“Ah yes I can see you've booked with us before, but I'm sorry, your booking is not appearing. You must be mistaken,” the clerk apologised sweetly, eyes scanning the glaring screen in front of her unsurely.

“Oh… really? Umm, ok, I'll take another room,” you sighed, pulling up your phone to double check if you had missed any emails notifying you of the change.

“We're fully booked,” the clerk added, trying to meet your gaze.

“What?” your voice wavered. Anxiety began to gnaw at your stomach.

“I said we're fully booked, ma'am,” she repeated.

“There must be another.. there aren't any other hotels around here… what am I supposed to do?” you murmured, the question being for yourself.

“That is out of our control, ma'am,” the clerk looked away. You could've figured that one out by yourself. What you couldn't figure out was where to go next as you dragged your belongings out of the hotel with you and found a bench to reap your sadness. Should you call Minho? No, he would be with his family by now, you didn't want to disturb him. Should you go back to Seoul? You could always go back to your apartment since Changbin was away and Hyunjin was staying with Chan and Felix. No, what if they returned?

Everything hit you at once like a tidal wave. It came crashing down upon you, forcing your head into your hands as you cried. Weeped. You were just about able to hold back your sobs, but why should you have to? Why were you forcing yourself to withhold your pain for years on end? It wasn't fair to you and it wasn't right to the memory of your parents.

Today was the anniversary of their deaths.

They went together at least. That small fact gave you a semblance of comfort but it wasn't enough to heal your wounds, soothe your nightmares or fill in the gaps they left behind them. Of course, not on purpose, you knew they loved you too much, their only child. There was no one else that you knew of left in your family, by blood.

“I hate it when you lie.”

You jumped, surprised you didn't even notice that Minho took a seat beside you, very cat-like in how he silently moved. Wiping away your tears and glancing away, composing yourself, you braved the situation you were now in and cleared your throat.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with your family,” you sniffed.

“I thought you were staying with your family,” Minho searched your eyes curiously, wondering why you were so distraught.

“Yeah, umm, hotel mistake, umm, we're gonna just stay home instead, yeah,” you stumbled on your words, not knowing in your own head if you were ready for him to know, for anyone to know. Maybe you could get past with this excuse. Maybe he wouldn't ask you why you were at a hotel and not a restaurant. He wouldn't worry about you.

“Where are they?” Minho asked slowly, sensing something was wrong from your offbeat rambling.

“They're… they're gone…” you break down into sobs, not caring about how loud you were. Your body trembled in distress, spluttering and longing for a healthy gasp of air.

“Aigoo, what's wrong, come here, come on,” Minho immediately gathered you in his arms, and before you knew it, he was supporting your weight as he guided you into his car, parked just around the corner. He held you with care, rubbing firm circles into your back and hushing your cries.

“Got nowhere, I've got nowhere to go,” you wiped your face roughly, causing him to grab your wrists and stop you from treating yourself so harshly whilst you panicked. He tried to make sense of it all.

“I miss them so much, I-i…”

“It's ok, I've got you,” Minho murmured against your head.

“They're gone, t-they’re dead… m-my mum and dad, they're gone,” you cried, words spilling from your mouth. The secret you kept from your members for so long now out there in the open.

“I… oh my.. ok.. it's ok… I get it now… I've got you, it'll be ok,” Minho blinked, trying to hold back tears of his own as he felt your sorrow.

“I-i should've said sooner,” you hiccuped, making him sigh in response.

“Don't do that,” he tsked.

“Sorry.”

“Don't do that either. You have no need to apologise. I wish we knew sooner but it wasn't for us to decide that, ok?” he cradled you in his arms, the heat from the car keeping you nice and toasty. It brought another layer of comfort to being in Minho's embrace.

You explained how after all these years of taking breaks and visiting family, you were really staying in a hotel the whole time. To top it all off, it was the anniversary of your parent's deaths. Minho had to fight every instinct in his bones to not scold you for not telling him in the first place and instead he asked your permission to inform the boys of what had happened. You said yes. Messages immediately flooded in. Shock, sympathy, confusion. Minho put his phone down and refocused his attention on you.

“What should I do?” you asked him earnestly.

“We're going home,” Minho stroked your hair back, pulling away to scan your face for any sign of panic once more.

“Minho, you can't drive from here,” you weakly joked, pointing out the fact you were sat in the back of his car.

“Ah, there you are. Never have I been so happy to hear you talk back like that,” he rolled his eyes teasingly. His hand patted your shoulder to signal you to move back to the front of the car with him, where you were sitting merely an hour ago.

The journey on the way back to your apartments was quieter this time. Minho wanted to respect you by simply letting you sit in your thoughts, but it wasn't long before you were sharing some of your fondest memories. He kept a close eye on you, multitasking with driving and your emotions, not wanting to see you as distressed as you had been before.

By the time you pulled up outside the complex, a strange set of nerves took over. The urge to stay in the car and not get out was incredibly strong, but luckily Minho was there to steer you inside, quite literally. An elevator ride later, you were outside your place, where everyone else was gathered, waiting for you. The door whipped open and Chan was first to grab you tightly.

“You don't have to say anything, yeah? We understand,” he whispered, kissing you on the head before pulling away.

Hyunjin and Felix embraced you next and you could see Changbin fidgeting, wanting you in his arms.

“We all love you so much and we'll always be here for you. Your family. We will always look after you. Please don't keep anything from us next time,” Changbin held you against him for a moment, a tight squeeze but it was needed for the both of you.

“I won't, not anymore,” you nod in affirmation.

“Have a brownie, it'll make you feel better,” Felix offered it to you, encased with some tissue. It was the sugar boost and sweet treat that soothed your soul.

“Thanks, Lixie, umm, I better unpack,” you hugged him quickly before looking for your luggage.

Minho was chatting with the others, nudging your suitcase towards you so you could have another moment to yourself.

“One for the road?” Felix called out, wanting to hand you another one as you walked away.

“She'll be too full up, we're gonna try and make some bulgogi…” Jisung whispered, or what he thought was a whisper.

You wheel your suitcase into your room with a smile and unzip it, delicately placing your folded clothes onto your bed into different piles.

“I hope you don't mind,” you heard a voice behind you, Seungmin, “I told my parents about your situation and they said you're always welcome round our house whenever you want. Sorry if that seems-” Seungmin stood by your doorway, rambling in an uncharacteristically shy way, before you barrelled into him to give him another hug.

“I would love that.”

When you re-entered the lounge, there were no expectant glances at you, just the safety of being with the people you love.

“I can't believe you managed to hide it from us,” Jisung commented with no ill intent, gazing upon you.

“I am sorry, guys, really-”

“No, no, I didn't mean it that way!” he waved his hands apologetically, “it's just, we can normally read you like a book. I'm more sorry we didn't notice something was wrong.”

“No, no, you don't have to be. Look, I, I don't really know what to say, Sungie,” you now understood where he was coming from.

“It's ok, I'll just hug you.”

He felt guilty for nearly making you feel like you were in the wrong, so he made the conscious effort to be glued to your side, holding your hand in his as you say on the sofas a blanket covering the two of you.

There was one person who hadn't said anything yet. You decide to make conversation to help break the awkwardness.

“What time are you going to Busan tomorrow?” you wonder, glancing at Jeongin.

“Oh, Busan? I'm not going this time,” he shook his head, watching your reaction.

“Jeongin…”

“There is always next time. Plus, I'm still with my family this way too.”

Bundled together on the sofas in the Hyunbin + you apartment, you felt relaxed. You didn't know how much you missed spending time together in the comfort of your own home. It had been a while since all nine of you lived together, after all. That evening you ate bulgogi, whipped up by Minho and his sous-chef Jeongin. Nine people were connected, whether it was Hyunjin teasing Minho by pretending to bite his feet (clothed, don't worry), Jisung pressed against your side or the multitude of legs strewn across each other. The others apart from your usual roommates reluctantly left you the next day after you promised you would be okay, or as okay as you could be. There was something that brightened your day though, and it appeared in the form of Hwang Hyunjin gifting you some art.

“I tried to capture their faces, but if you don't like it then-”

“I love it. I love it so much. Thank you, Hyune.”

The beauty in which you all came together, just like you always did, ran deeply through your souls, bonded together as a family forever.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @katzline @kiwihrt @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #straykids ninth member #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #ninth member #stray kids ninth member #skz 9th female reader #skz 9th member reader #stray kids x 9th member #skz 9th member #stray kids 9th member

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itsnesss · 1 day ago

Note

heyy, could you write a jun-ho smut with a jealous reader (I didn't think of any specific situation), I'm sorry, english is not my first language 😭😭

I love your writing so much!!!

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you feel insecure and jealous during a dinner with jun-ho, especially when another woman approaches him. after an intense emotional moment, jun-ho reassures you in the restaurant bathroom. the scene ends with jun-ho asserting his dominance and claiming you publicly, leaving no doubt about your relationship

warnings | jealousy and possession, insecurity, smut, explicit content, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, semi public

word count | 2.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The restaurant was filled with laughter and conversations. You could hear the clinking of wine glasses and plates being served in the distance, but everything seemed distant to you. Sitting at the table next to Jun-ho, you felt that, no matter how hard you tried to enjoy it, something didn’t fit. The atmosphere seemed lively, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place. His coworkers were talking about topics you didn’t fully understand, and although you tried to follow the flow of the conversation, your thoughts always returned to one thing: her.

It was impossible not to notice. The girl, with her dark hair and melodic laughter, stayed close to Jun-ho the entire time. Every time he made a joke, she laughed louder than the others, casually touching his arm, as if they shared a complicity you couldn’t reach. Every time their eyes met, you felt as if the air around you thickened, as if the world suddenly shrank, leaving you alone in the middle of that crowd.

The focus of attention seemed to always be Jun-ho, but there was something in the way she got close to him that made you twist inside. It wasn’t just that they were talking; it was the way they looked at each other, as if they shared a secret history that you didn’t know.

You felt increasingly uncomfortable, like an intruder, and when she leaned toward him to say something, touching his arm again, you couldn’t stop an intense feeling of jealousy from taking over you. You felt stupid, but you couldn’t help it. Why did it bother you so much to see how they laughed together, how they got close, as if they were the only ones in the room?

Jun-ho, unaware of your thoughts, continued enjoying the conversation. His coworkers also seemed charmed by his presence. He was the center of attention, and you, even though you were sitting next to him, felt invisible. Was it always like this with everyone? So close, so natural? You couldn’t stop wondering what they had that you didn’t.

With your heart racing, you took a sip of wine, trying to calm down, but when you looked at the girl again, you saw her smiling, moving even closer to him. Something inside you exploded. You didn’t want to be there, you didn’t want to keep seeing that scene. No matter how many times you told yourself you shouldn’t feel that way, the anxiety kept growing, taking over your mind and body.

You decided to stand up abruptly. You couldn’t stay there, feeling like the air was suffocating you. Jun-ho looked at you instantly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice full of concern as he saw you get up from the table.

You felt tense, your breathing irregular, but you tried to keep calm. You looked toward the hallway, feeling the need to get away.

"Just... need some air," you replied, your tone not very convincing, but enough for him not to insist.

Jun-ho stared at you for a moment, then stood up as well. Without a word, he followed you down the restaurant hallway. You didn’t want him to come, but you couldn’t stop him from taking your hand with a firmness that, although gentle, was impossible to ignore.

"Are you sure everything’s okay?" he asked as they walked. There was a hint of concern in his voice, but also something else. Was it jealousy that sparkled in his eyes? You didn’t know, but what you could feel was the tension in his posture, the way his steps became quicker as he noticed you pulling away.

"I just need to be alone for a moment," you replied, but you couldn’t stop your tone from sounding more curt than you had planned. Frustration was starting to surface, and the last thing you wanted was to show Jun-ho how insecure you felt at that moment.

Finally, the two of you reached a small secluded corner, where he stopped you gently, looking at you with an intensity that made you swallow. The distance you had tried to put between you both didn’t exist, and Jun-ho's closeness made you feel more vulnerable than ever.

"What’s going on?" he said, this time without the previous concern, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You couldn’t keep hiding it. The poison of jealousy coursed through you, and although you knew it wasn’t rational, you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

"It’s just... her... I can’t stop looking at her," you said, gritting your teeth, your gaze fixed on the floor. It was hard to look into his eyes, even though you knew he wouldn’t understand unless you said it. How could you explain that every time she got close to him, you felt like something in your chest was breaking?

Jun-ho remained silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, but there was a hardness you had never heard before.

"Are you getting jealous?" he asked, his tone so serious it almost made you regret speaking.

The blush appeared on your face instantly. You tried to find an exit, a way to take back the words you had just said, but the truth was, you couldn’t. That’s what you felt. No matter how silly it seemed, you couldn’t stop comparing yourself to her, to the way she seemed to have all of Jun-ho’s attention.

Before you could say anything else, Jun-ho took your hand and, without a word, led you to a nearby door. It was clear that he wasn’t going to let this conversation hang in the air. He wanted you to clarify it, he wanted both of you to clarify it.

He led you to the bathroom, the door closing behind you with a soft click, and the sound of the others’ voices faded away. All that was left was the echo of your breathing, his and yours.

Jun-ho looked at you with unusual intensity. There was a different energy in the air, something palpable, and you could feel it in every fiber of your body. Something had changed in him too, as if the situation had brought out a more passionate, more possessive version of himself.

"I’m going to show you that I’m only yours," he said in a low voice, like a promise, as his fingers traced your face. Every word was a heartbeat, and his eyes wouldn’t let you escape.

Your chest sped up, and when his lips met yours, you couldn’t stop a wave of desire from flooding your body. The kiss was deep, urgently warm, and at first, all you could feel was his closeness, his body pressing against yours with force, as if he wanted to erase everything else from the world.

But it wasn’t just that. You could feel his hands on your body, touching you with a palpable need, as if he were finally claiming you, as if the jealousy had pushed him to prove that only you mattered. And in that moment, all you thought, all the insecurities you had felt, faded completely.

"Jun-ho..." you murmured between kisses, but you didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t necessary.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, his hands found your waist, pressing you against him as his body moved with the same urgency you felt. His kisses were gentle at first, but they became more intense, more demanding. You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want anything to separate you from him in that moment.

Without thinking, his fingers found your dress, sliding underneath to caress your legs. You arched towards him, knowing there was no turning back. You wanted to feel his touch, his tongue in your throat, his teeth caressing your nipples. All you wanted was him.

Both of their breaths were heavy, they were both panting, but they couldn't stop. He gently spread your legs, and when his fingers found your wet panties, he couldn't help but let out a deep sound of pleasure. It was as if you had driven him crazy, but you didn't feel guilty. You wanted it that way. You wanted him to realize that only you could make him feel that way.

"You are so beautiful" he said between kisses, moving his tongue along your neck. His fingers found your pussy, pressing it gently.

"Jun-ho... Please" you murmured, but you didn't need to say more. He knew exactly what you needed.

With a softness that surprised you, Jun-ho slipped two fingers into your wet pussy, moving them slowly. You could feel your inner walls caressed by his fingers, the warm touch, the movement so firm and confident, and before you could realize what was happening, your vagina began to contract. You clung to his shoulders, trembling with pleasure, and couldn't help but let out a moan.

Jun-ho continued moving his fingers, looking at you as your walls closed around them. The vision was so erotic, so exciting, that you felt like you were about to explode again.

"That's it, my love," he murmured, moving his thumb towards your clit. Come for me... Come to me, my love.

Your eyes closed and the orgasm took you on a journey of pleasure. You felt like you were flying, as if Jun-ho were the center of the world and you were surrounded by his energy. It was his touch that had brought you there, his finger pressing on your clitoris with softness but firmness, and you could do nothing but surrender to him.

It wasn't until several seconds later, when your breathing began to calm down, that you realized your panties were stained. But you didn't care. You couldn't be happier that Jun-ho had given you an orgasm in the restaurant bathroom, simply because you had made him feel jealous.

The idea was as erotic as it was sexy, and you didn't want it to end. You wanted to keep feeling his touch, feeling him inside you, as if it were possible to merge your bodies into one.

"I want to feel you inside me," you said softly, looking into his eyes. Jun-ho also seemed calm, but his pupils were dilated. You could see in them the need, the desire to fuck you.

Without a word, he lifted you off the ground and set you on the countertop. They were lucky that there was no one around at that moment, or the situation would have been even more embarrassing.

He pulled down his pants and boxers in one swift motion, revealing his hard cock. It was so beautiful, so big, so perfect. You desired her inside you, you wanted to feel her thickness, her warmth.

You didn't wait any longer. You lowered your panties and sat back on the countertop, spreading your legs so he could come closer to you. And that's exactly what he did.

He got between your legs, looking into your eyes as he placed the head of his cock at your entrance. You felt so wet that you knew he could slide in easily. And that's exactly what he did. He slid his cock into you with a smooth but firm motion, and you couldn't help but let out a scream.

"That's it," Jun-ho murmured between kisses, sliding his cock inside you. "You're so wet... You're going to like my cock, aren't you?"

You didn't respond. It wasn't necessary. You let his cock fuck you, let his touch take you to a wave of pleasure, while his fingers played with your nipples. And it didn't matter that you were in the bathroom of a crowded restaurant. The only thing that mattered was him, his body on top of you, his cock fucking you with such need.

"How does it feel?" you said in a whisper, arching towards him with each thrust—. How does it feel when you fuck me? What does it make you feel when you have me inside?

Jun-ho seemed lost in his own sensations, but upon hearing you, he opened his eyes again. He looked into your eyes with a burning intensity.

"It makes me feel powerful," he said in a very low voice, moving his hips so that his cock sank even deeper into you. It makes me feel like only I can do it, like only my cock can do it.

You felt yourself blush, but you didn't stop. You couldn't, you didn't want to. You wanted to listen more.

"And what does it make me feel?" you asked, tightening your walls around his cock. He let out a sound of pleasure, but continued speaking.

"It makes you feel like I'm yours," he replied in a firm voice. It makes you feel like you own my cock. As if only you deserved it.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to tell him that he was also your master. But you didn't. You couldn't speak, because at that moment, Jun-ho moved faster, thrusting his cock so deeply that you couldn't help but orgasm.

Yes, an orgasm, right there, in the bathroom of the most public place, with Jun-ho fucking you. And you couldn't complain. The sensation was so intense, so sexy, that you didn't want it to end. But Jun-ho seemed to know you were coming, because he moved harder, squeezing his fingers on your hips.

Your vagina contracted, and Jun-ho began to come. His muscles tensed, his breath stopped, and his cock emptied inside you.

Both were still, panting. You knew you should be ashamed, but you couldn't feel anything but pride. Pride in knowing that Jun-ho belonged only to you, and that he had shown it in the sexiest way you could imagine.

Finally, he pulled out of you and helped you down from the countertop. The semen began to spill onto your panties, but you didn't want to clean yourself. You wanted to take it home, feel its touch on your panties all day.

Jun-ho smiled upon seeing the expression on your face.

"Don't worry," he murmured, kissing you softly. I think you already understood. "You're jealous, and I'm going to give you something so you always feel secure. Okay?".

You didn't respond. You didn't need to do it. You knew that Jun-ho would always be there for you, but only for you. And that was more than enough.

After what happened in the bathroom, everything seemed different. The air between you and Jun-ho was charged with a new tension, something you had never experienced with him before. The words he had whispered to you in the middle of the kiss kept resonating in your mind: "I'm going to show you that I'm only yours." You felt yourself going crazy, every fiber of your being burning with the intensity of his caresses, but now there was something even stronger, a need you couldn't ignore.

When Jun-ho opened the bathroom door, the noise of the restaurant hit you full force, but it was no longer the same. Even though the others continued chatting and laughing, the world felt more distant than ever. You walked beside him, as if you were floating, and the only thing you could think about was what had happened between the two of you, what he had shown.

The curious thing was that, instead of trying to smooth over the situation or hide what had just happened, Jun-ho seemed even more confident about what had occurred. And as soon as they returned to the table, he made no attempt to separate from you.

As they moved forward, you felt more uncomfortable. Everything seemed to be happening at a different speed, as if everything around you were slowed down, while your body continued to vibrate with the electricity that Jun-ho had left in you. Your eyes searched for hers, but this time, you felt no fear, no jealousy, no insecurity. Jun-ho's dominance over you was so clear that, for the first time, you felt completely secure.

The place was lively, but when they reached the table, something in the atmosphere changed. Everyone seemed so busy with their conversations that they didn't notice the immediate change in the interaction between you and Jun-ho. However, what happened next made it clear that he no longer intended to hide what was between the two of them.

Jun-ho sat down again, but this time, he didn't let you sit next to him like before. No, this time he took your hand, guiding you onto his lap without hesitation. The murmurs at the table faded as he, with a fixed and dominant gaze, drew you closer, as if ensuring that no one could question who you were to him.

Everyone's eyes turned towards you, and in that moment, you felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. Jun-ho smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was a smile that spoke of possession, of control. Suddenly, you felt his hand slide down your back with a firmness that made you shiver.

"This is so you have no doubt," he murmured, before his lips met yours in a passionate, direct kiss, in front of everyone.

The clash of sensations was immediate. The world around you disappeared, only he and you existed, and the intertwined mouths. The kiss was neither shy nor brief; it was long, intense, full of a promise that didn't need to be verbalized. Jun-ho held you tightly, making your body press closer to his, as if you wanted to disappear into him.

At first, the room fell silent. No one dared to interrupt, surprised by Jun-ho's audacity. But then, someone laughed nervously, and another murmured something softly, as if trying to downplay what had just happened. However, Jun-ho showed no signs of concern. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy every glance, every whisper at the table, as if he fed off the attention they gave him.

When they finally parted, the air around them was charged, but not with tension, rather with an unbreakable confidence. Jun-ho looked at you with a smile that knew exactly what it was causing. He knew there was no way anyone could doubt what was between them.

"Is that clear to you?" he asked in a low voice, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Your breath was ragged, but it wasn't just because of the kiss. There was something in his attitude, something in the way he had behaved that had completely shattered you. And now, looking at him, you understood that there were no doubts. There was no room for insecurities. You were with him, and that was all that mattered.

You nodded, without the need to say a word. You knew you didn't need to speak. Jun-ho had done everything he needed to do to make sure there was no room for doubt. And when everyone's attention slowly returned to their own conversations, you felt different. It wasn't that you had been "possessed" in some way, but there was something in that kiss, in that public display of affection and control, that had erased any insecurity you might have had.

The others returned to their conversations, some of them even trying to discreetly glance towards where you and Jun-ho were sitting. But he didn't let you go for a second. The way he held you, the way he looked at you, made you feel like you were his, without the need for words.

#squid game smut #squid game #squid game 2 #jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho smut #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho #jun ho squid game #hwang jun ho #squid game x reader smut

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sirxlla · 3 days ago

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It Comes Naturally

----------------------------------------------------

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Slight Angst

Prompt: "Dad things he does subconciously" with buck (request by anon)

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

A lot of the fatherly things he did initally came out in ways of making sure that you had properly bandaged your finger or carrying you to the bedroom when you fell asleep on the couch. It was just casually caring for your partner as one should, like making sure you had enough dinner or that you got to work safely.

As time went on in the relationship progressed, you noticed how fatherly he seemed to Chris. How he would help him every single time he had the opportunity, maybe with homework, girl talk or other general things.

Buck is so kind and attentive, most of the time he can tell how someone's feeling just by looking at their face or reading the room. He is always so good at making sure to clock your emotions and how you're feeling.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asked as he came into the room.

"I promise it's nothing." You had said not wanting to put your shitty day on to him.

"I know that's entirely bullshit." He smiles, gently grabbing your chin so he can gaze into your eyes.

"I'm just having a rough day, I'm remembering some shit from my childhood." Your eyes slightly teared up as you are trying your hardest not to cry. He pulled you into a hug and everything starts to feel right, his hugs were all encompassing. You know how they say that everything faded and it was just you and him? Like the movies. That's exactly how it felt with him his hugs were just the best thing you could think of whenever you're feeling like shit.

His dad behavior seem to spike when his sister had a baby. Every single time that Maddie needed a babysitter he was the first person to jump on it. He tended to carry Jee around everywhere, showing her how he does everything even if she can't understand.

"And this is the smoke alarm." He held her up so she could see the smoke alarm. There was no rhyme or reason to the things that he showed her just random things around the house like the top of the fridge, the pantry or the microwave. Of course considering the fact that she's a baby she has no idea what's going on but she enjoys it just the same.

You often caught him watching Bluey, Max & Ruby, Blue's Clues or whatever TV show he had put on for the little girl, he had gotten sidetracked and sat down and started watching it. Of course it started the same way it does for every other father where they glance at the TV and slowly get sucked into the plot of the episode. A couple of times you've caught him passed out on the couch with her because the both of them had fell asleep watching television.

In a way he is very much an uncle but in so many different ways he is like a father, he's patient, kind, and understanding. Evan is the perfect partner and the perfect person that you could see yourself building a life with.

When there's a problem he always talks it out with you and you both come to an understanding and say sorry because what he says is that "it takes two people to argue" and both of you are to blame; apparently this is something that Maddie taught him when she essentially raised him. It was a way of making sure everyone felt understood and cared for in any type of relationship, it took him some time but he did realize it slowly that it was indeed true in most situations.

Evan isn't just fatherly but motherly as well, he's perfect with kids, he's a fantastic partner and a wonderful human being.

It was really early in your relationship and neither of you had talked about it, having kids. So when you saw that little blue plus sign you're nervous, not because you don't want this but because you're worried it's too soon.

"Baby, I-" You take a breath as you come out of the bathroom in your pajamas. Buck is remaking the bed that both of you didnt have time to do this morning. He hears the worry in your voice and turns around.

"Hey..." He sits at the end of the bed and pulls you between his thighs, those ocean eyes staring into yours with love and care.

"I- um... I missed my period and I didn't think anything of it because I've been stressed. You know with everything that's been happening, the fires and all?" You tell him, your heart heavy in your chest. He just listens as he knows that you'll continue when you're ready, his hands slowly rubbing your hips in silent support of whatever you have to say.

"...We- We only had one test laying around." You handed him the test and watched his reaction on his face, it took a minute of his brain processing but a huge smile covered his face.

"Oh! Oh my God! Baby, you're pregnant! This is- this is good news, this is great news!" He pulled you into his lap and hugged the doubt and worry out of you.

"You're not mad? It's really early in this relationship and I really didn't want to push anything on to you." You started crying cause you were so sure he'd be upset cause generally a lot of guys would be, it was a relief.

"Mad? Baby, I've never been happier. You- You're amazing. We can do this. Right? You wanna keep it, dont you? If you don't its okay but I just-" Evan starts to get nervous as he speaks cause he realizes he doesn't want to force any decision on you or make you feel obligated to keep this baby if you don't want to.

"I- Yeah. I do." Tears pouring down your face and onto his neck.

"You're going to be the most gorgeous mother out there." Buck rubs your back as he tries to help with the tears that are dampening his shirt You had never had this type of support in your life and you knew at this exact point you wanted him in your life in any way possible.

If at some point down the road you guys didn't love each other the same way that you do now, you know that you would want him in your life as a friend at least just to have him in your life. You'd always have a connection to him and that was even before you got pregnant, but now there was a bundle of life growing within you that was part you and part him stringing the two of you together forever.

"I'm going to be here with you as long as I breathe, I promise." He whispers into your ear before pulling back so he can see your face. Buck covers your salty tear filled face in kisses.

He always knew exactly what to do to make you smile and this was no exception, the love he gave you and the compassion and care was to be unmatched by anyone no one could make you feel like this but him.

Masterlist

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #911 on fox #911 abc #911 show #oliver stark

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gangstalkerbarbie · 2 days ago

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OK topical swerve but: punk is inherently about being countercultural, which is why Soviet punks were/post-Soviet punks are a bit obsessed with fascist imagery, and also why so many punks you might politically agree with are ginormous dicks personally.

I think this is an important point to introduce into discussions of the future of a hypothetical solarpunk society — when the fighting is done (and it is fighting), when the raw glory of it fades, how is a new society going to deal with the future it builds? How is it going to be sustainable? When this isn't countercultural anymore but you've built a mainstream society that still values nonconformism for its own sake, where is that going to lead?

I think some of the most important work that can be done is the type of community building that looks forward to the point where life is liveable, and then beyond it, to the next generation. This is a point that people in activist circles often forget about because, for completely understandable reasons, most people with the time to do ecofuturist activism are childless or child free — but any society is going to contain children, you know? It has to.

Is it a sustainable world we're building if we aren't, now, thinking about being able to sustain it, in terms of cultural infrastructure for its maintenance and for the raising of healthy children? In terms of the values we want to instill? All of this is to say that it's natural for sustainable healthy communitybuilding in defiance of the state to be labeled as punk /now/, but think again about what happened to the counterculture in the Soviet Union.

That's not why it collapsed, but it devoted endless needless time to beating on its youth for wanting American jeans and shit, for wanting connection with the world, and, like, what are we doing about our equivalent of our kids wanting jeans? Not that, not like, fucking statist repression, but it often seems to me like people in these circles either are still teens, finger on the pulse of how to talk to teens because they're not in an unavoidable hierarchic position of authority over people afraid of authority yet, or have never met a teenager, ever.

I want to interject to say that mythbuilding and identity construction is integral to any society, and I worry sometimes that strongly identifying living a healthy, sustainable, governmentally unexploited life with punk, with the counterculture, might lead into a repeat of history. And then — your society crumbles, because your kids that the state knows how to get to over the internet are young and dumb and buy into ideologies that subvert you out of spite, because you encouraged them to believe that they have a right to do this.

This is why hippie communes usually last a couple generations at most. The government is not as dumb as people think, and this is why most serious activists in this vein focus on making existing, recognised communities better — but even there, there are limits to the usefulness of anger. Don't plant trees and cook meals for the homeless and elderly and agitate for rail because you hate the state — you'll run out of steam.

Do it because you love your city and you'll fight until your neighbours, in all their smallminded conservatism and traumatic relation with civics and sexism and racism and old pain, have clean water and clean air and clean food.

It takes a particular kind of person to be punk to begin with, and you actually very much don't want to cultivate this type of person in a new society, or even in an activist movement to improve an old one. When things get bad enough, and there is always a bad enough for every kind of such individual, this type of person trashes everything around them because fuck you (the new authority) and then does absolutely nothing to help. They came to the commune or the movement to make coffee with Sock and Moss and to grieve their grievances, ultimately, and to feel part of something. Eventually they either get bitter and useless or run out.

No one asked, but this is why personally I don't identify myself as solar or any punk. Punk identity is transitory and fundamentally relies on there being an enemy to rebel against. I'm not pretentious enough to call myself an activist and I don't count as white enough in the US to be taken seriously as such, but in order to be something approximating an activist, you have to think about what happens after.

We fight now, but the most a warrior generation can ultimately do for the health of the community is eventually to beat their swords mostly to ploughshares. How are we going to make sure the kids maintain what we've built, without threat of harm or coercion? What do we do for the children? Eventually angry defiance has to cool down to calm, assured disobedience that knows what it's doing, or else the movement attracts a critical mass of angry, defiant, compromising people, who can't be trusted and won't be directed and don't even know what they're fighting for. Anger makes you dumb, and we can't afford to be dumb about this now that the forces we're looking at know how to break down societies like we hope to have.

We have to work with the human nature we have, and again, I think that means minimizing adversarial framing. With adversarial framing you have sides instead of communities, and if you have sides...

All of this is to say, we have got to cultivate a hopeful, resilient, disobedient activism grounded in a mature, communitarian civics, where there are no wrong kinds of people, but there is a right civic ethic.

They're very good at this in Detroit, despite everything. I used to volunteer with a guerrilla gardening initiative run by the people who taught me this.

I keep seeing people asking ‘is solarpunk really punk?’ because it’s too happy and optimistic and stuff

and I’m picturing a perfect moment in a solarpunk community — the neighbourhood mayor standing with a shit-eating grin on her face when the cops come and cut them off from city power, and nothing turns off

#lest anyone misinterpret me im not for folded hands nonviolence #i think you gotta fuck em up sometimes #i just also think you have to do it mindfully #cogently and awarely #heal yourself first then heal the community you live in #or you will twist it into your image

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dontmixpaintinyourcoffee · 9 hours ago

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This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

#coffeepaintart #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma #the magnus archives #scopophobia #scopophobia tw #tw scopophobia #the archivist #tma fanart #tma art #if i need to tag any other tws or cws lmk

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markleessodalite · 2 days ago

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What Scares Them About Love: NCT Dream

Haedcanon: what are the dreamies most scared of when it comes to falling in (or out of) love?

content: mentions of general insecurity, but nothing specific... i don't think there's anything specific to warn about here but lmk if i miss something!!

Mark:

Mark is scared of being a fool for love. Mark likes to think of himself as a clever guy, quick on his feet, nothing and no one can get the better of him. On the other hand, though, he knows how he gets when he’s in love. Its like any finesse or composure he has flies out the window as soon as that certain someone appears. Yeah, its cute and charming, a usually cool and collected guy suddenly becoming a bumbling, rambling mess– unless a lovesick Mark lands in the hands of the wrong person. Mark knows he’d be so easy, too easy to take advantage of if he’s in love. And he’s terrified of being the fool who gets his heart played with, just because he was too dumb to notice the game.

Renjun:

Renjun is scared of not being enough. So much of his life is already under scrutiny, the very nature of his career is dependent on millions of people watching his every move, every performance, every look on his face at every second. You might think that with him being judged so often, he would become immune to it– but its different when Renjun is in love. People talk about love making you feel light and secure, safe, like nothing in the world could hurt you now. For Renjun, love just makes him remember all the things he’s insecure about, and all the ways someone might be dissatisfied with him. He’s scared of wanting to be everything for someone, but not being able to amount to anything.

Jeno:

Jeno is scared of exposing himself. He’s most comfortable when he can keep others at arm’s length, and there’s a very, very select few people in his life who actually get to see Jeno’s true self. Yes, he’s a member of one of the most popular idol groups, he performs to thousands of people on a regular basis who completely adore him, he posts a selfie that he took two seconds to snap and the comments are flooded with praise and affection. But he's in control of all of that– he knows exactly what to say and do to get the exact reaction he wants from others. When it comes to love, its an entirely different story. He knows that for a relationship to truly grow, he must show his true self to someone. And he knows that when he shows his true self, his most vulnerable insecurities and transparently naked thoughts, he loses all control over how that someone thinks of him. Jeno is so afraid of someone seeing him in such an exposed state, and deciding that they don’t like what they see.

Haechan:

Haechan is afraid of effort. Not in the sense that he’s lazy– in fact, its the exact opposite. Haechan might just be the busiest man on the planet, and he puts an extreme amount of care and effort into everything he does. He’s constantly moving, constantly thinking, he’s not sure he even knows how to stop moving or thinking. But there’s only so far he can stretch himself without tearing apart at the seams. So really, what Haechan is afraid of is giving what little of himself he has left to somebody, and it ends up not being enough. He doesn’t have enough time, enough focus, enough energy to really give to someone. His biggest fear about love is losing it altogether because the effort he puts in just isn’t enough.

Jaemin:

Nothing about love scares Jaemin. The only thing he’s afraid of is seeing his love story end. Jaemin is a romantic at heart, he loves the very idea of love, and love truly means something very special and important to him. So, he doesn’t give his love easily to just anybody. He’s picky, because to him, his love story is meant to be the only love story he’ll experience, and it’s supposed to last until the end of time. He’s built to love someone until his last breath; he is not built to suffer through love fading, to go through a break up with someone he thought he’d be with forever, to watch everything he hoped and worked for dissolve into dust. When Jaemin’s incredibly high standards prevent him from finding someone, its not because he has an aversion to love. Jaemin is just terrified of what happens when love ceases to exist.

Chenle:

Chenle is afraid of backing down. Chenle is a prideful man, confident and sure. So confident and sure that he’s sometimes uncompromising, and a successful relationship is all about compromise. Chenle is perfectly aware of how important compromise is, yet there’s just something in him that refuses to let go, refuses to give up, refuses to compromise when he knows that he’s in the right. In a way, Chenle knows that a potential roadblock on his journey to love is his tendency to sabotage himself. He’s not just afraid of conceding defeat, he’s afraid that his stubbornness will be the death of his love.

Jisung:

Jisung is afraid of what love might mean for him. Jisung is still so young. Not to mention with how busy he is, how much stuff he has going on in every aspect of his life, how he’s still trying to fit into his own skin and figure out who he is… he just knows that if he were to fall in love at this stage in his life, it wouldn’t last. It would result in some sort of heartbreak that would change him in some way, and Jisung is terrified of what that change could be. He doesn’t want to become someone hardened and bitter, he doesn’t want to be heartbroken and sad all the time. He’s so scared of feeling all the emotions that come with love and the end of it, that for him, it seems better to avoid it altogether.

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transformers-spike · 3 days ago

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I wouldn't be surprised if Knockout gets freaky with his human under the guise of "self-maintainence" when really he's just a horny bastard

This makes me scream because legit - who is doing the self-maintenance? Is he asking his human for help with his own maintenance? If so, he would opt for his alt mode, so they can reach allllll the right spots (or so he tells them). And they're washing him while he flirts and makes double entendres that verge on cringe-worthy puns, all "You sure know how to get me wet, sweetspark" and "Mmm I can't wait to reward you handsomely for your skilled hands, darling" Once you start cleaning his interior, his engine starts to rumble a little too pleasantly around you. Yeah, it would purr right as he told you "that's the spot, darling" when you were taking care of his exterior, but now it's starting to feel like a hitashi magic wand. You ask him about it, and he just tells you he's so very happy to have someone help him with his hard-to-reach spots, saying it in such a salacious manner you think he's on the verge of overload. If you don't come undone from his voice alone, he's going to take care of you properly once you're done (or at least once he can't take anymore foreplay). If we're talking about his human's self-maintenance, well... things get weird really quickly. You know what you're in for when he offers to dry you off after a quick dip in the pool. But some part of you naively believed it was barbie doll curiosity anyone would have felt towards a much smaller partner. Nah, he goes straight for it. From the way he delicately holds you in his servo to the careful surgical-like precision of the digits rubbing the towel over your skin. Maybe it's the flirting, maybe it's the smug smile, or maybe it's just the way his vox sounds; smooth as silk. It's easy to feel aroused and naturally give in to his touches, especially when his digits run freely over your body check just how wet you really are under your swimwear. "I missed a spot," he croons and you know your life is over.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #headcanon hour #valveplug #tfp knock out #knock out x reader #maccadam #thank you for indulging me i love the bastard

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quartztwst · 1 day ago

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(No Yan Sim AU) Questions for OCs! + Quartz and other characters' lore

You don't have to do these if you don't want to! You can write and answer how ever you want (3rd person or as the OC)

These answers are just examples and they also give lore to other TWST characters in the AU

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Riddle currently lives with his mother. Because of her influence, he is the strictest in the student council (which consists of the dormleaders.)

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

[You can yap about it here since I already used Quartz as an example in the fourth question]

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Jade is Azul's right hand man. He assists Azul with a lot of student council work and is mostly by his side with Floyd. They are friends from their middle school days and up to their highschool days (although the three of them won't admit it).

Jade found Azul's hardwork and scheming nature very exciting so he and his brother always stayed by Azul's side to see what fun events would happen.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

[They are speaking about Quartz as example]

Floyd: "Who again?"

Floyd doesn't really acknowledge Quartz since she's so quick out of his sights. Genuinely believes there isn't a person named that but is suspicious.

Jade: "Oh, that shy girl? She's a little funny."

Definitely suspicious of Quartz but they don't interact much so he has no other information about her. He probably needs to be more skillful when studying her.

Riddle: "Quartz?.. Uh.. I-I don't recall who that is."

Quartz rarely interacts with Riddle.

Ace: "Ah? You mean that girl who's always so weird? I've seen her watch Azul. Pffftt! Do you think she likes him?"

He notices her sometimes because he thinks her appearance is a little flashy.

Idia: "I-Isn't she one of Azul's admirers?... She's the shy type right? She's a little strange though.. Sometimes she takes photos of me! W-Wait.. Maybe she's into me instead?! EEEKK!! H-HOW SCARY!!"

Completely misunderstands Quartz's actions but he's quick to know how weird her actions are. He stays away from her if Azul isn't present.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Azul, Jade, and Floyd are all 2nd years (17).

Leona has been held back so he is still 20.

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Quartz wishes to kill Azul 🙏

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Floyd is jumping her.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Riddle is absolutely reporting that! He's calling the cops and everything 🫡🫡🫡

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Quartz is always in class but she'll come right before the bell rings since she was.. busy. She doesn't have a particular place she goes to all the time. She's never in one spot.

Quartz's lunch spot varies because she's always spying but her usual spot is in the courtyard.

Riddle is assigned being a hall monitor so he usually watches the halls when he is able to. He usually eats lunch with Trey and Cater.

Leona is always found napping under trees and skipping his classes. Ruggie manages to find him and give him his lunch from the cafeteria.

Rook is watching you.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Deuce tries, ok. (Awful)

#twst au #no yandere sim au #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc

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witherby · 1 day ago

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little mouse being biologically hals would be soso cute and the baby would probably be even happier then in little wayne au because hal is silly and goofy

Yes, we love the silly and the goofy and the fluff BUT. the angst phone is ringing and therefore I must answer. So picture this:

Omega!Hal comes back to earth for a Heat and shacks up with a hot alpha for a couple days. He took birth control, they wore a condom, the whole shebang. Two months later the morning sickness comes. Hal's immediately thinking oh fuck, I don't know how to Parent, I don't have the time or the money to Parent, does Oa even grant leave for this, what the fuck do I do?

And because he's stubborn and proud, he doesn't tell anybody. The League thinks he just caught some kinda space cold and he rolls with it. No need to worry about his suit fitting weird because he literally wills it into existence on his body, so that's easy to hide too.

But, as we all know, Batman is not fucking stupid.

"You're either pregnant or getting really fat, really fast."

"Oh my god?? If you're gonna out me like that at least say congratulations????"

"Congratulations. Did you file for maternity leave?"

And that's how Hal finds out the League offers maternity leave. Because of course Bruce would make sure they offer maternity leave. He also mentions his other options, like adoption or abortion, whatever Hal feels like he needs to do, and not to worry about insurance covering it.

Hal is just relieved he doesn't have to hide his belly anymore. He gets to vent to somebody about the pregnancy now that Bruce knows, and he expects Bruce to give him stupid answers like "train more to maintain your physique after the birth" or "shoulda worn two condoms," but He's A Dad, so his advice is incredibly insightful.

They hang out a lot during this time. Oa doesn't make him fly out for missions for the foreseeable future, and the League benches him too. He's got nothing but time, and Bruce offered up the Manor to crash in, so there's where he spends most of his time. Naturally this gives them ample opportunity to get together, and suddenly it's not Hal's baby anymore, it's theirs.

The boys are all in. Alfred is picking out paints for the nursery. Jason volunteers to move back in to babysit.

And then, when you're all done baking, out comes you!! Welcome to the world, little guy! Your mom and dad and brothers and grandpa love you so much! You are the spitting image of Hal where it counts — the hair, the eyes, the height — and the other features are from your sire. You're cute as a button and loved unconditionally :3

#el speaks #alternate littlest wayne au #a/b/o au #hal jordan is your mom #batlantern

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averycutesalamander · 1 day ago

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hello baefy….. humbly requesting 18 or 24 from that list you rbed:3 with the silly cowboy….. geheheheh

BEACH EPISODE BEACH EPISODE BEACH EPISODE !!!!! kinda did my own twist on this one :) suggestive toward the end

24: Tracing your names together in the sand.

Boothill has to admit that you have impeccable taste in vacation spots, because he's not sure he's ever seen a beach as stunning as this one.

The water is incredibly reflective to the point that he can't see beyond the surface, which gleams like molten, glittering silver in the daylight. The sand on the beach is exceptional as well; it's white and strangely glassy, shifting colors depending on the angle he looks at it from. The view when the two of you first emerged from the treeline was fantastic – a kaleidoscope of color meeting with a sea of silver, stretching into the horizon. He's not even sure how the hell you managed to find this place, because there's not a soul in sight other than the two of you.

Oh, but it all pales in comparison to the sheer look of awe that envelops your expression the moment you lay eyes on the scenery.

(There's so many ways that he finds you beautiful, but there's something a bit exceptional about the way you look like this – continuously and routinely dazzled by the world around you, no matter how many other fantastical sights you've seen. His chest aches with an affection so deep and heartfelt that he swears it'll kill him, one day.)

You were tentative about this location, admittedly; his body can handle water just fine, but it forces him to replace parts more often – doubly so for salt water. Thankfully, this is a freshwater beach – which means he can get into the water with you without too much concern. The water is pleasantly cool, which lets him seal off his vents without much worry of overheating. He still sinks like a rock, granted, but the water is shallow enough that he's at no risk of accidentally drowning himself.

It's not so shallow that he can't vanish under the surface, however; he can hold his breath quite a bit longer than a human – and what kind of man would he be if he didn't use it for nefarious purposes?

Surprisingly, visibility beneath the surface is impeccable; it's almost crystal clear aside from a faint grey hue. Naturally, this means he can see exactly where you are – but the opposite isn't true at all. He lurks beneath the water, crawling around like the horrible little goblin he is, circling you as you cluelessly marvel at the mirror-like surface above; you were so mesmerized by it when he went under that he's certain you haven't even realized he's vanished. Tiny fish dart away from him as he prowls, retreating under stones or into miniscule burrows in the sand below.

When he gets close enough to you, he brushes his fingers against your ankle – just hard enough to be suspicious. He retreats backwards as you jump, and he grins wildly at the muffled yelp that escapes you as you spin around.

Through the water, he hears you grumble, “Oh, that is so unfair.”

He laughs despite himself, bubbles escaping his nose; your goggles are still in your bag on the shore, which means you're practically blind.

He only realizes his mistake when you turn right toward where he's hiding – and lunge.

He yelps as he scrambles away, just barely dodging your seeking hands as he flees into deeper water. You fumble for a moment while the sand and water settles, then promptly give up once you've realized that he's slipped away.

“C’mere, little sharky,” you croon, spinning slowly as you search for any sign of him. “I thought you wanted to play?”

Oh, he'll certainly play.

Now that he's sure he's hidden again, he resumes his gradual circling, careful not to move too quickly, lest he disturb the surface and give himself away. His hair drifts around him like a curtain of silk, and he can feel the grit of sand in his joints, but he already knows this is going to be worth it. You don't move away from the spot you're standing in, clearly trying to spot him – but he's cautious enough that he won't give anything away. Gradually, he closes in on you, his lips twitching in open amusement.

He leans closer, ever-so-slowly, careful not to disturb the water – and then he takes a chomp at your calf, careful to angle his teeth in a way that will only scrape, but not pierce.

You jump damn near two feet out of the water in surprise, and the cutest little shriek leaves your throat. He's honestly expecting you to move away instinctually – but you catch him off guard when you leap toward him again, faster than before. He squawks as he scuttles away again, but this time, he's too slow and too close, and your hand grabs blindly onto his ankle.

Ah, fuck.

He flails like a caught fish – which he supposes he is, at the moment – careful not to use too much force but earnestly trying to slip out of your grasp. You don't let him get away, splashing down halfway on top of him as you blindly fumble to get a grip on him.

Then, he grins, wide and wicked and menacing. He braces himself on the sand and surges upwards, gathering you up in his arms and laughing triumphantly as you flail and giggle. He clenches you tight against his chest as you squirm, burying his face into the crook of your neck and chomping theatrically, noises and all – though he's careful not to catch your skin on his teeth, so he's more or less mouthing at you like a fish.

He only lets you push him away when you start to go breathless with laughter. He pulls away, grinning down at you. “Looks like you're just chum, now.”

You're still snickering as you ask, “Am I tasty chum, at least?”

A lascivious look crosses his eyes, and he leans down toward you and purrs, “Oh, you're delicious, baby.”

He watches in delight as the euphemism hits you full-force, your eyes widening as you sputter. Then, he waggles his eyebrows obnoxiously, instantly breaking the atmosphere he created, and you both burst into laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all.

“You're such a fucking dork,” you snicker, pressing your face into his chest as he turns and starts to cart you off to the shore. “I can't believe anyone thinks you're intimidating.”

“I'm plenty intimidating!” he proclaims haughtily. A moment later, he reopens his vents to let some of the heat escape; the sun is already warming him significantly, but it doesn't compare to the radiance of your smile.

“I'm shaking in my boots,” you say dryly. “Practically quivering in fear.”

“You're just sayin' that because ya already play close to the fire, sugar,” he huffs as he sets you down on the towel you set up in the shade, settling next to you with his feet still in the sand. For effect, he snaps his teeth close to your nose, snickering at the way you jump. “Don't forget that I could burn ya.”

You hum dismissively, still smiling widely as you lean closer. “But what if I like the heat?”

He grins, moving to meet you, his eyes hooded and tempting. “Well, that'd make ya a lil' fudgin' freak.”

He laughs in sync with you, foolishly amused by it all. You press a quick kiss to his lips, clumsy with your snickering. You lean back, and the two of you stare at each other fondly, oblivious to the world around you.

(He'll never get over how pretty you look like this – how your smile lights up the world like the sun. He'll do anything to see it again.)

Suddenly, you turn your gaze to the sand beside you, hunching over before beginning to drag your finger through it. For a moment, he thinks you're just idly fussing with it – but then he realizes that you're moving quite deliberately.

Curious, he watches you work, openly befuddled. “What in the world are you doin’?”

“One sec,” you deflect, biting on your lip in concentration. Cute. After several more seconds, you look up at him, your eyes damn near sparkling. Brightly, you proclaim, “It's you!”

He peers down at the lines in the sand, his brows furrowed. It sort of looks like a blob? Is that a… fin? Suddenly, he sees it – a cartoonish little shark, grinning widely, touting a crude version of his hat and gun.

He bursts into laughter, hearty and earnest and so painfully endeared that it makes his chest ache. He looks over at you, and you have the dumbest, cutest fucking look on your face, so irresistible that he wants to bite you.

“You're too cute for your own good, sweetpea,” he says, shaking his head. “‘S gonna get ya in trouble with me, one of these days.”

You smile, rolling your eyes playfully. “Oh, no,” you drawl, long and exaggerated. “I'm so scared. Whatever will you do with me?”

His smirk widens into something devious. “I dunno,” he drawls. “Come over here and find out.”

“And fall right into your trap?” you say skeptically, raising your brows. “You're gonna have to try harder than that.”

He hums, giving you an evaluating look; then, he drops his gaze down to your cute little doodle in the sand.

Hm… He thinks it could use some company.

He slowly begins to trace a tiny drawing of his own, biting down on his tongue as he focuses. You watch eagerly as he scrawls, and when he's done, he looks up at you with the goofiest grin he can conjure.

You squint, peering at the lines quizzically. “Is that… a shrimp?”

“Yep,” he snickers boyishly. “‘Cause you're my cute lil' shrimp. Bite-sized n’ everything.”

You laugh, your eyes sparkling. “Oh, I'll show you bite-sized.”

(Hook, line, and sinker.)

Just as he hoped, you pounce on him playfully, and now you've become the devious shark, chomping obnoxiously at his jaw and cheeks like it's your life's purpose. He laughs and lets you have your fun, pushing at you with just enough force to be playful – though he does legitimately start to squirm when you begin to target the place where his skin meets his metal; he doubts that he'll ever get used to that strange dual sensation. You cling to him like a leech, though, relentless in your assault.

Then, in one quick motion, he grabs you by the waist and flips you, grinning at the way you yelp as he pins you onto the towel.

“Didn't have to try that hard to catch ya, huh?” he says smugly, a note of mischief in his voice.

To his surprise, you meet him with a look twice as sly.

“Are you sure I'm the one that got caught?” you ask, your eyes glittering with mischief.

Before he can even fully process what you've said, you clench your fist carefully in his hair, yanking him down until he meets your lips in a bruising kiss; he groans quietly into your mouth, a heated thrill of pleasure skittering up his spine. He leans further into you as you slowly comb your fingers through his hair, and he shivers when you nibble at his lip. Obediently, he lets you press your tongue slightly into his mouth, slowly tracing the sharp points of his teeth.

All too soon, you tug him away by the roots of his hair, and he has to bite back a disgruntled whine when his lips break away from yours.

“Say,” you begin slowly, your smile widening deviously, “I think I got some sand under my bathing suit.” With a heated look in your eyes, you lean closer, just out of reach of his lips. “Do you think you could help, honeybee?”

He swallows heavily, caught off-guard by your intensity – but he certainly isn't opposed.

“I'm sure I can figure somethin' out,” he rasps, raking his eyes down your body. Slowly, his fingers trace up the heated skin of your thighs, skirting closer to your hips.

…Perhaps there are some unforeseen benefits to finding such an isolated beach.

@opheliaflavoredinstantnoodles @ikeagroceries @shadowstadium @theswashbucklingspy @cosmo112 @fxngtasy @rinzis

#sal.txt #yes im procrastinating finishing the big fic what gave it away #if i dont finish the first chapter within a week you all have permission to lynch me LOLLLL #also i think beach s** would be categorically unpleasant #although considering that boothill could bench press you with one hand i think you're safe lol #also im so sorry this took so long LMAO it's been nearly done for ages #boothill x reader #reader insert #x reader #boothill #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #gn reader

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