#we will at the right time so you never be late for any purpose.

[taxitransfersrugby]

Airport taxi Service - airporttransfersrugby

[inkoutsidethelines]

Thinking about how I would write an adult Scooby-Doo series, because I think it can be done.

The first thing I’d do is make the characters actually be adults.  Still young, but adults, in the mid to late 20s range.  Mystery Inc. is a private detective type business that they run together.  In this universe, the supernatural/ghosts/etc are real, but not necessarily common, so when they take on a case, the culprit might be a person disguised as a monster, or it might actually be a real ghost.  The stakes can be higher; sometimes a bad guy is legitimately trying to kill them.  Sometimes the mystery they’re trying to solve is a murder.  Sometimes they actually get hurt on their cases.

Fred: the core of Fred’s character should be that he’s incredibly kind.  Like, give a stranger the shirt off his back kind.  The “Fred can’t talk to potential clients because he might take a case for free and we need to eat” kind.  He’s an honest and good person and sometimes gets himself into trouble because he assumes other people are too.  While he’s not very good at reading people or noticing ulterior motives, he’s brilliant when it comes to mechanical or engineering type stuff, so he’s the one who keeps the mystery machine running, builds their gadgets, and of course, designs the traps.

Daphne: she comes from old money, and her parents absolutely despise her life choices, to the point where they haven’t officially disowned her, but they have basically cut her off, so she doesn’t actually have access to any family money.  Growing up wealthy has granted her a variety of skills, including speaking multiple languages, horseback riding, and fencing.  She’s very into fashion and jewelry (even if she can’t afford it anymore) and has extensive knowledge of both that can occasionally provide a vital clue in a case. And even though her parents have cut her off, Daphne still has a wide network of contacts she can ask for favors sometimes, because she’s personable, and people tend to like her.  Daphne is also very emotionally intelligent, and is usually the one who can spot when someone is lying to them.

Side note - I ship Fred and Daphne, so I think I would start them off as an established couple for this universe.  Dating, engaged, married, I don’t care.  They are stupidly in love, ride or die for each other.  There’s no will they, won’t they, no worries about cheating.  They are in a healthy, happy, loving relationship, and no one (not even Daphne’s disapproving parents) are going to mess that up for them.

Velma: she is the forensics nerd who sometimes gets super excited about the wrong thing at the wrong time (”He was mummified in seconds? That’s so cool!” “Velma!  His wife is standing right there!” “Oh.  Sorry.”).  She’s not purposely insensitive, she just gets laser focused on her work and forgets to filter herself sometimes.  She’s also the one who can get so fixated on solving whatever mystery they’re working on, she’s willing to bend or maybe break laws.  Is breaking and entering really so bad?  Not if it gets them answers.

Shaggy: he is still the comic relief, but he’s the comic relief by being the only person in the group that actually has common sense.  He manages the business’s finances, he’s the only one who knows how to cook, and the others tease him for being a coward sometimes, but Shaggy maintains that if a ghost with an axe is coming for you, running is the only sensible option.  He should also have a range of random knowledge that sounds useless, but sometimes saves the day (ex ventriloquism, origami, the history of spoons, etc).

Scooby: as this is a universe where supernatural creatures exist, Scooby is an ancient eldritch type being that took a shine to Shaggy when he was a kid, and took the form of a talking dog to befriend and hang out with him.  Aside from the talking dog bit and not aging, he never uses his powers in a way that anyone notices.  The audience is not told upfront that Scooby is an ancient eldritch being; it should slowly be hinted at throughout the series so the audience put it together, but the characters never realize it.  Scooby genuinely considers Shaggy to be his best friend, and cares about the rest of the gang too.

[fanaticalthings]

Most children, once they've grown up and moved out, sometimes come back to visit their parents to use their house as a sort of personal grocery store

And with Bruce being a literal billionaire whose house is always stocked with food and supplies, the batkids (that aren't living in the manor) definitely visit just for the purpose of taking shit for themselves.

---

For Dick, it's just small things, food and maybe some utensils. Bruce is barely in the kitchen so he never notices dishes go missing, and there are like 10 other children in his house so literally any one of the younger kids could've stolen food in the middle of the night, so he doesn't bat an eye at all.

Babs probably steals Bruce's hardware or his tools from the batcave. Sometimes, if she's nice, she'll leave a note.

Steph probably takes shit that no one will notice at the time but will absolutely be annoyed about when they need said thing. Stapler, soap bars, the microwave plate, etc...(Taking after Jason, she steals the hub caps off the batmobile's tires)

However, for Jason, once his relationship with Bruce is somewhat decent, of course he's gonna be petty and start stealing the more expensive shit in the manor for his apartment. Jason's microwave is broken? The next day, the cave's self-made and enhanced microwave made by Bruce for convenience is just gone.

Jason's feeling a coffee maker for his place? The one in Bruce's study disappears, too.

---

At first, Bruce thinks he's just sleep deprived, but then much bigger things start to go missing, like the whole TV and couch set in the living room. He assumes the younger kids are just playing pranks on him (sounds like something Stephanie would do) but then Bruce notices that the thief deliberately avoids stealing things from the kitchen, which is where Alfred is most of the time, and suddenly Bruce has an irritated clue on who the culprit is.

At first, he doesn't say anything, until one day he comes back, tired from a patrol, and is about to log in all the info on the computer only to realize his batchair is gone. That's when he texts Jason a blunt "If you really need things for your place, you can just ask me. I'll buy them for you." (As if Jason himself isn't loaded from his totally legal activities)

---

So now Jason's pettiness levels increase tenfold, and oh, wouldn't you look at it, his bike needs some new tires, and he knows a great place to get some more.

One night, Bruce is just blearily getting up for a late night snack, only to see Damian scamper away with a...lamp? So Bruce immediately follows him into the foyer only to see ALL of his kids (sans the ones not living in the manor), trying to haul two arm chairs out the window, and they just stop dead silent to stare at him until someone whispers a nervous "Crap"

Bruce doesn't even have any energy to fight, he just pinches his nose and is all "What is the meaning of this" in his tired dad voice. And Duke meekly responds with "we wanted more chairs at Jason's place"

And suddenly it all makes sense. Not once did Bruce wonder how the HELL Jason managed to lug a whole 60in TV and a full couch set on his own in one night. Of course, he had accomplices. Bruce just turns right around and goes right the hell back to his room to sleep. He'll deal with this in the morning.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ HEARTBEAT

tw. pseudocest, noncon, possessiveness, grooming?, age gap, blood, murder, a lot of trauma bonding

wordcount. 6k

a/n. thank yoUUUU rhi for betaing you are my favorite as alwaysssss I love you soooo much ♡♡

okkotsu yuuta x fem!reader

Blood is splattered on the ground of the dirty alley, and there’s another heavy thump when his kick once again lands on the kid’s skull and he moans in pain. He calls him a kid in his head because he’s got that shit-faced little attitude, and now an ugly gap where his front teeth used to sit, but he should be old enough to know better. As a couple passes by the narrow street, he shields things from view a little, before using the long edge of his sheathed sword to push the dumb, bloody face to the side. Because his eyes are starting to look like two overripe tomatoes from the impact, he couches down before the sandy brunet.

“You know what this is about?” Yuuta’s voice is hoarse. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s been a busy week cleaning up your messes. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind. If anything, it makes him feel sort of useful. You’re good and kind and don’t get into trouble on purpose — which is why he’s here late at night making sure things get handled. Niisan’s got it, after all. He doesn’t bother to clear his voice. “Hey.”

“Take my cash,” the young man below him now whistles through the missing teeth, teary eyes darting around as he pats his hand all over himself to look for a wallet.

Yuuta scoffs. “I don’t want your money. If I did, you think I’d waste my time beating your face in like you had it coming?” The anxious, almost nervous lilt to his own voice doesn’t escape him. If you could see him now, you’d probably say that he was enjoying this too much - and while he is, the idea of this getting back to you doesn’t escape his mind. It won’t though, logically speaking. The kid probably wouldn’t be able to see straight for a couple hours, and you will never find out. “I want to know why you’re hanging around Rika’s kid sister.”

“Kid? W- I don’t know any Rika!” He yelps when he tries to lift his head and gets the handle of the weapon hit hard onto the bridge of his nose again, adding more blood to the mess that’s running all over the bottom of his face. Yuuta really can’t see it, lifting his top lip in slight disgust. Handsome, where? Just as much as this boy isn’t really a kid anymore, neither are you. But you’re younger, and deserving of protection — is it really so bad he wants to imagine you as his baby sister for a bit longer before you start trying to escape from under his wings?

Not that you’re going to go anywhere.

“I don’t know a Rika,” the blond whines again now, hiding his face into his hands to drool and hiccup against the cold floor.

“Orimoto Rika, has a kid sister.” Yuuta bites back, patience running really thin.

“O-I- I kn- oh, we’re in the same uni prep class!” He gets up to close his eyes and focus all his attention on not just kicking against his skull until the answers fall out. He knows that, how else would he even know to ask? The head damage takes it a few seconds to make the guy continue, sniffling. “We’re friends- or- my friend knew her. I liked her so we hung out a few times.” Yuuta’s hand is cold around the worn handle.

He takes a slow breath, watches the cloud of air as he lets it out. The promise ring glints in the light of the street, and it’s all familiarity and instinct that makes him brush his thumb over it. “Were you serious with her? Or did you tell her whatever so you could fuck her? Hm? Did you fuck my little sister?” The brunet snivels and whines under him when his foot lands back right before his face, demanding attention.

“I won’t talk to her anymore, I swear! I swear I w-won’t even - it’ll be like I never existed. Please.” The pitiful whining he’s doing, groveling like a dog below him - sort of reminds him of a younger him. Someone who didn’t have a purpose yet, and was scared of everything for it. The heavy weight of the ring clings to his hand when he lifts it to unsheath the katana, seeming to wrap a comforting palm around his own. If he could, he'd tangle fingers with her.

“P-please, let me go home! I didn’t do- I wouldn’t touch your s-sister, I didn’t know.”

“I hate guys who aren’t serious with her.” He clicks his tongue, and has to spit out the nasty taste that this entire situation leaves on his tongue. The weight of the sword is barely an inconvenience when both hands wrap around the handle properly. He’s doing this for Rika and him. Always. “She deserves so much better.” A mean flash of possession crosses his thoughts - how no one except him will ever be good enough. But he pushes it back, because that has nothing to do with why he’s doing this. Nothing.

+

“Yuuta~” Her voice haunts when he closes his eyes.

He’s in the sandpit of the Children’s hospital, rocking back and forth softly on the edge of it as he waits. The sun makes the sand nice and toasty, it warms his feet when he plants them down. “Yuuta!” It’s instinctive, when he looks up at the familiar voice. Rika’s hair travels in a perfect arc behind her when she runs to make it catch the light like a halo. Pretty blue dress making the shine of her hair even brighter, cheeks rosy, and her eyes glittering diamonds when they find his and she crashes down next to him. Her scraped knee is proof that it’s too hard, but he can’t help but smile when her cheek touches his arm on the landing.

Something hits the floor with a loud thump.

Yuuta turns over his shoulder to watch. There’s a smaller child that’s chin down on the earth behind them two, thick crocodile tears threatening to spill when Rika gasps. “Rika neechan~ Wait.” You pout, straightening up quicker than you should to reach your hands out to her. The girl hurries over to dust your cheeks off and drag you along behind her. It’s such a nice day out, Yuuta’s sweater is just thick enough to make his entire body warm. He stares at your face a little too long, before glancing between you two.

You’re still rounder than she is, but it’s undeniably eerie. “Your sister?” He asks softly, and Rika grins wide. She gently maneuvers you by the hand to sit next to her, then pulls you into a hug.

Her lips are pretty pink when she licks them. “This is Yuuta. Say ‘hi Yuuta’.” You parrot your sister obediently, as she waves your hand around at him. “Me and Yuuta are going to get married. So you should be very nice to him, okay?” Her sweet cheeks are the exact same as yours, long lashes and big, knowing eyes that always have him staring. You just look absentmindedly at the grass when Rika holds you into her side, but nod.

He smiles softly when your big eyes find his again. And Rika giggles. “And she’s gonna be your sister one day, so you gotta protect her well. We’re gonna be one happy family, promise?” She extends her arm to hold out a pinky finger at him. “That’s what I want.”

+

His fingers are pressing indents into your arm. It’s unusual. Yuuta’s always gentle, he’s soft and cares, but today his hand is screwed almost protectively tight around your upper arm, and you can’t say that you hate the feeling. Maybe childishly, you want him to squeeze even harder - so you’ll have no reason to get out.

You don’t come here a lot. Not since the accident tore open the painful scarred memory of it, but even before then, it wasn’t exactly your favorite place. It’s at Yuuta’s gentle prompting that you even managed to dress, and now walk however slowly between the low stone walls. The rain taps impatiently on the umbrella above, as the older boy casts you a careful glance. Then slowly bends to sit on his ankles, and grabs your hand ever so softly, meeting your eyes. His hands, though big enough to dwarf yours now, are almost velvety when they clasp around yours. It feels like he’s exponentially grown, while you’ve stayed pretty much the same.

Partly the illness. Mostly the age.

“Think you can go on?” he softly asks, kind eyes sympathetically regarding you. Like he’s making a judgment call about whether to turn back after all - debating the long walk back to the hospital. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’ve already gone before, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds a bit accusatory, a bit pouty too. Can’t be helped. Yuuta could be a living saint and you’d still find it hard. He clearly doesn’t take it to heart, because he smiles. His one hand then moves up to ruffle your hair.

“It’s still hard for me too, though,” his lips quirk up in an almost smile, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. It’s sort of comforting to know that even someone like him feels it. Of course he would. Your neesan was family, but Yuuta probably knew her better than you ever could. He was beside her when she got out the two times, and was waiting when she had to get re-admitted. He was there when she got hit— there’s a comforting brush of your cheek when he stands back up and the umbrella gets so much higher. Yuuta blinks. “Come. I think you can do it.”

Your chubby cheeks flood with warmth, as you take his fingers into your hands with a nod. “Okay.”

It’s like this that you wind up at the headstone, stepping through dredged earth that’s been walked on too much. It seems to cling to the bottoms of your shoes with intent - you squeeze Yuuta nii’s hand tighter at the sight of the family grave. It now holds three of your kin in a warm embrace under the several bouquets of wilting flowers, and however morbidly, you think that maybe you’ll be joining soon. You’re young, but it’s not lost on you when the nurses send each other pitying looks.

“Is this where neesan’s buried?” Your voice sounds pinched and small, and sort of pathetic. You imagine Yuuta nii cried when he came to the funeral, but he wouldn’t have whined. You’re whining. You don’t want Yuuta to get fed up with you. Not when he’s the last semblance of ‘family’ you have left. After a while of staring blankly at the stone, he nods, and turns over his shoulder to smile at you again, pulling you a little closer to him. Your arms loop around his waist, staring down at the pretty whites that shake under the rain. “Is this where I’ll be buried when I die?”

He freezes. You feel bad about the double take he does when his spine goes more straight, rigid limbs dropping by his side as a deep, uncomfortable breath makes its way out. Your hands wring together instead.

However long it takes for him to unlock his limbs is however long you breathe through your tears as they well up stubbornly along your lash line, before your head is pulled to his ribs into an embrace. He swallows back emotion himself. “That’s not- I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. I promise.”

“I’m sick-”

“No.” His eyes glint with something silvery when he takes your face between both hands and lets your childishness wash over him, clenching his jaw. “What happened to Rika was an accident- I- I couldn’t do anything then. But nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m here. I need- you to believe me.”

You don’t flinch when he uses your cheek to turn your face his way, but the urge still sits. His eyes study your face too intently, like he’s looking for something he can’t quite find. “I promised that I’d be a niichan that protects you.”

Rain splatters into a million glistening flecks as it meets the headstone.

“Okay,” you say.

It isn’t lost on you that his jaw is set too tight as he drags you back by the hand towards his bike, fist clenched around the umbrella. He breathes a tiny, ‘Later, Rika’ before turning on his heel. You don’t manage the same. Your voice gets stuck in your throat, even when he helps you up onto the bike rack in the back, pulling your face into his chest too tight- squeezes you to mold against him. He smells nice for a teen boy. The kiss he leaves on your crown is gentle, and leaves a soft warmth on your skin — You doubt it is really meant for you.

+

The door pushes open as you’re putting clips into your bangs, tongue trapped between your teeth. You cast Yuuta a glance through the mirror when he lingers at the door, and try to smile. “I’m almost ready.” You’re no longer too keen on fighting, the longer the silent treatment drags on. After a while of watching you with his arms crossed over his chest — he walks over to your bed to plop himself down and lets himself fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” the noiret sighs at nothing in particular, as you put on a necklace and after debating for a second, some perfume. The noise makes Yuuta look, studying you when you turn. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Yuuta didn’t have to stay with you, and he sure as hell didn’t have to give up a lot of his youth to take care of you like he does. Like your other family refuses to do when all the cards are on the table. He catches your stare. “You know I love you. I… worry when you’re not right here where I can see you. We stick together.”

“I know.” Your smile only barely makes your lips move, but you do mean it. You just wish realizations like this didn’t always have to come at the cost of fighting. “For what it’s worth, I’ll probably always forgive you.” You try to laugh, and brush your hair out of your eyes a final time before grabbing your bag. “I’m only going to be out for a few hours, max.”

Yuuta frowns when he sits up. His dark hair is brushed out of his face, damp and soft from the shower. “You’re still going?”

You blank. “Yeah, Himari and Shota are waiting for me. We’re going to see a movie.” He only has to let his eyes travel over your body and clothing once, for you to read what he’s thinking. You yank the edge of your skirt a bit lower, and pull your shoulders up. “What, what?! I can’t go out looking like this? It’s basically the same length as my uniform, what’s wrong with that?!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathes back, empty eyes regarding you with a static sort of- indifference, you guess.

“You don’t have to, niichan! God!” You turn to walk out the room, but Yuuta grabs your wrist when you pass by the bed. Sat down like he is, eyes tracing you like a lion- Yuuta no longer looks like the boy that used to draw stars on the ceiling of your hospital room for your amusement. Your cheeks heat when he basically glares straight at you for your attitude, and mulls the answer around in his mouth. Your anger subsides as you take a breath. This is the guy who makes you fresh apple juice in the morning, and calls you up between shifts. Because he cares. He just cares.

“Can I please go, Yuuta nii?”

After a few seconds, he clicks his tongue, staring at the edge of your skirt before tugging at it too, barely hiding a frown you can see dig between his brows. “You know I don’t like that Shota kid?”

Your lips jut out. “Yeah…” It’s getting awfully close to time to leave. You take a step back just to get his hands away from you. It’s distracting, and this is your brother you’re dealing with. “But he’s really nice. He started high school already but he used to be in my class the last three years, so… so you don’t have to worry. He knows I can’t do everything because I’m sick and he says—”

“Yeah, I’m sure he says everything you want to hear… You’re smarter than this. You don’t actually believe that.”

“He’s my friend.” A friend that makes your heart beat a bit faster when he smiles at you, but what’s it to him? “He doesn’t lie.”

Yuuta grimaces when you stare him down. “Don’t tell me about teenage boys, I used to be one.” He bristles before sitting up straighter, and though he’s technically below you, you still feel his energy tower as those big, dark eyes stay on your face. “Are you really ‘going to see a movie’? Or are you just going to sit in a boy’s room all night while I’m worried sick-”

You’re about ready to walk out, but his fingers are still looped around your wrist. “We are going to the movies! Himari and I! Just because a boy is there- ugh! Niichan, don’t make it weird!” The heat burns higher on your cheeks when you ball your fists, ignoring the pressure behind your eyes. This is so embarrassing. “I want to go.”

It’s quiet for much too long, making goosebumps appear all over your exposed skin. Then he breathes. “Come here.” His voice has more of an edge than it used to. You used to like the way your name fell from his lips. You’re not so sure you do anymore. Instead of storming out and forgetting all about him, you stare back at the sharpness in his eyes. When he pats his lap with familiarity, you jerk a brow. But you sit. His breath brushes along your neck too softly where he’s seated. It tickles on the way down.

It almost feels like… like he could wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you stopped struggling.

Yuuta nii wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

Fingers come to your necklace, undoing it, and it drops into your lap on the pretty, blue skirt. It’s suddenly much too cold in the room, and you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. It’s fine. You’re fine. Yuuta is family.

Still the untouched skin of your neck feels too exposed.

If he notices your rigid posture, he doesn’t bother fixing it. Just reaches, then pushes your head forward. The childishly familiar pink, bedazzled heart he holds up instead glints, swaying from where you left it on your side table for the night. “You get back at 9,” his lower voice sounds, “or else I’m driving out to wherever you are and dragging you back to my car.” When you don’t say anything in response, he brushes away your hair from your shoulders.

“Yuuta nii,” you start, clamming up when he drapes the dainty thing around your throat and does the closure for you. “I wasn’t going to wear that one tonight.” You don’t always want to wear whatever Rika left behind until infinity.

“I think you will,” he breathes back, and kisses your exposed shoulder. It’s less sweet, more something to punctuate his statement. If he wasn’t so familiar and soft, you’d immediately fight against the way his strong arms wind around your waist to anchor you in his lap. “Just wear it.” His hands stay against your skin, long after he’s finished. Too long, and after seconds of sitting in the tense silence, you jerk up off his lap to grab your discarded bag from the floor. The other necklace drops to the carpet somewhere, but you don’t care.

“Fine,” you bring out tightly, before giving him a last look. Your bottom lip trembles a slight bit, so you suck it into your mouth to make it stop. And tears sting at the corners despite yourself. “Later, then.”

“Tell Himari that niichan says hello. It’s been so long since she’s been here.” He gets up from your bed too, and you resist the urge to rush out the room before him when he steps around you. You can’t fight the feeling that somehow… you were just caught in your lie. Your phone beeps in your bag, as Yuuta nii disappears around the corner. Shota, probably.

+

Blood. The door creaks, swings against the wind.

Dead.

You hope he’s dead. Blood pools at the center of the showers, sinks down the drain too slowly. It sticks to the pretty porcelain tiles of the old school locker room before the water gurgles it down.

They’re dead.

You don’t have to question it before it’s confirmed. Before the heavy, silver cleaver is lodged into the side of the already ruined skull. All of them. All of the boys of the soccer team seem to be present, though you don’t want to try and count. Counting makes it real. This shouldn’t be. The heavy thump makes way for a gross squelch when he yanks the metal out, and keeps the body down with his foot.

The spatters on his face are still wet. You can’t help the way your voice comes out when you breathe in deep and try to keep the tears from spilling over. The cleaver’s red and sticky and so is his hand, up to his forearm, his forehead from wiping his hair away. All of it, ruined.

“Y-yuuta nii?”

The metal door of the locker slams closed with the wind and hits you in the back, sending you skittering forward a few steps before you force the air out of your lungs with a stuttered pant.

With a soft smile, he turns over his shoulder. “Shhh.” The blood’s crusted under his nails when he presses a finger to his lips, then waves you closer. “Help niichan out?” His eyes glint over, before his smile goes a little wider, and he whips the blood off the weapon onto the ground. “S’ your fault I had to do this after all. We can clean up together. Hm?”

Your breathing is so shallow that you can feel your heartbeat in between your ears. You aren’t sure why you nod. The guilt tastes bitter on the way down.

+

Rika was dead on impact. She didn’t have a chance, even after she fought so vehemently against what took your mom. You know that. Even if she didn’t get struck by misfortune then, she might’ve not lived past her teens.

Yuuta doesn’t seem to know. He also doesn't seem to consider the same for you either— letting you toy with the edge of his shirt where you’re curled into him in your too-small bed. The hospital wants you back for another check-up.

It’s true that you’ve already outlived your sister, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. Yuuta nii doesn’t want to hear it. As he brushes your hair with his fingers, you scratch the arm where the IV’s always get attached with an absent minded pout. Until Yuuta notices, pouting down at you. “Are you still feeling dizzy? I can make you some green tea if you’ll let go of me for a few minutes. Lots of honey like you like.” You quickly shake your head.

To him this is final, the worst you’ll ever get, and in reality that’s probably not the case. You don’t tell him though. His deep eyes stay on you a little too long. “What’s wrong?”

Sometimes you wake up and can’t open your eyes past a blurry sliver, your head tight enough to make your skull feel like it’s caving in. Times where you have to clasp your stomach painfully tight to hold yourself together — stumbling in tears into Yuuta’s room. Like you’ll disintegrate in his arms unless you lock him around yourself. This isn’t as bad, but you still feel bad.

Feverish and cold all at once, achy where your stomach goes up and down. You can’t mention the possibility of having to go back into urgent care without aniiki spiraling, so you keep your mouth shut. “I don’t like green tea,” you guiltily admit instead, and stare up at him when he holds a few knuckles to your head, studying you.

His expression scrutinizes you a little tighter, before he pets over your crown. He presses a soft kiss onto your lips. It’s Rika that loved it, you want to say, but for some reason you can’t make the words come out. He sighs, slightly put out, but then nods. “If you’re feeling better later, maybe you can help Yuuta nii with the curry. Okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile up at him, and you can see how the muscles in his jaw unclench.

His soft hands cup your face intently, staring down at you too intently. It starts sweet, until the feeling of his breath dust over your face and you watch as he flicks his eyes all over you. “You look so much like her. I can tell now that you’re getting older though,” his thumb smoothes over your soft cheek. “We should see if there’s something in Rika’s stuff you can still wear.”

“Won’t be able to fit it anymore, niichan.” Your voice comes out apologetic, though you don’t know why.

“Hm. You might be right.” His look goes more distant before he pulls you closer. Legs tangled, arms loosely looped around you. “You’re still smaller than me though. Luckily.” He takes a deep breath, before nuzzling his nose into your crown to breathe long and deep. His warm hands trail over yours before squeezing. “I love you, you know that? Always will.”

You stare at the wall of mementos past Yuuta’s shoulder. Suffocatingly cram packed. Her pictures. Her music poster. Her pre-teen bottle of perfume you wear only on special occasions. Your hands stop toying with the edge of his shirt to brush instead along his forearm until you meet something that isn’t skin. Yuuta’s quiet, but his breathing is slightly pinched— you don’t mean to.

You glance between you two to the plastic your finger hooks onto. The bracelet she made in the hospital care ward for Yuuta that he still wears despite the fact that the color has long peeled off of the cheap beads. “You loved neesan, right?” Your lashes almost brush when you look back at him, watch him trap his tongue between his teeth for a moment as pink sits on his cheeks. His hand wraps around yours to tangle fingers.

“I… did.”

He swallows. “She made the hospital seem a little less lonely.” The mementos seem to stare at you from across the room as he speaks, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach refuses to fade. If anything, it gets more painful. Tighter. “We’re going to be together forever though. And I,” he squeezes your hand, voice fading to barely a whisper, “I love you. Love you so much.”

There's a cold slid over your fingers when he moves. You allow him to slip off the band, gently, and almost as if he wants to give it to you without you noticing, his fingers slide the cursed thing onto your hand instead. His smile is gentle, makes those dark eyes look a little less pressing. “When you’re cleared from going back to the hospital, we can find me a matching one. We still have to get married, right?”

The room feels cold.

“... Okay.”

+

“Let’s kiss?”

It’s too late to be early when the shared bed gets crowded over on your side. “St- I’m going to sleep, Yuuta nii. Stop.” You don’t open your eyes to the touch, definitely not to the gentle brush of his fingers over your lips when he gets too close. Always too close- it’s suffocating. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Don’t be like that.” He sounds happy. He always sounds like that when it has to do with you, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to flutter open when the thumb instead pushes into your mouth. “If we get married, this will be normal. Don’t pull back.” He pushes onto your tongue to make you hold it in your mouth all heavy and tasting of him, then leans in to push his forehead to yours. Deep, possessive eyes pinning you in place.

“You don’t want to?” It almost sounds mocking. You know you brought this on yourself. You asked to go home early, you asked to invite friends. Maybe this is payback the way big brothers give it. There’s tears that spring up anyway when his other hand slips under your shirt and he squeezes your soft belly. As the spit he wipes on your lips gets kissed away by an impatient sigh. “I’ve wanted to for such a long time. You wouldn’t ask me to wait more.”

“Yuuta nii. We’re siblings, aren’t we?” The ring glitters. Your hand is clenched into the front of his shirt as warm hands grab down your body— hands you love. Hands you trusted.

“Of course we are. That’s why I’m doing this, silly girl.” Hands that push your underwear down your round hips despite you fighting to keep them up. He giggles when you burn with embarrassment, before pressing kisses to your temple. “I love you. I love you, I love you. Who better to kiss you than big brother?” You shake your head, try to push- he doesn’t budge. Just keeps your body in place under his with his weight.

“G-get off of me, Yuuta! Stop being so weird!” You cry, pushing until he grabs your wrist and forces it down beside your head. He’s still smiling though, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like you’re still a child acting out. It’s that which makes you squirm more, and the glare digs into your forehead when he gets on top of you. “Stop~ I don’t want to kiss.”

Instead he laces his fingers with your ring hand, as the other patiently flutters down to rub over your pussy. You don’t want to. You don’t. Yuuta just smiles when he tilts his head to regard you, and squeezes your fingers a little tighter. “Rika-chan asked me to take care of you. Don’t get so mad.”

+

It’s getting cooler and cooler and cooler the longer he stands. Pressed in the corner of the sterile, greenish blue atmosphere with white sheets draped over your body. He takes a long, deep breath until the nurse finishes up with the checks, taking freshly drawn blood away in a vial. “You’re the guardian?”

The red stands out against your complexion as your restless sleep drifts deeper— he shifts in his seat to lace his hands together. “Her big brother, yes.”

She doesn’t bother to pretend to care when tapping her clipboard, gives a distracted smile. “The doctor will be here within the next hour, okay? Please wait here until then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yuuta’s quick not to let the smile quirk up onto his mouth when she’s already walking out before he finishes. As soon as the door falls into lock he gets up from the uncomfortable chair to kneel by your bedside and grasp your hand.

Soft. Small.

He hates to admit that he could spend hours here by your side; but the truth is the truth. He could, and he has. And he will, until it is no longer necessary.

Yuuta kisses your hand with a gentle smile, feeling your heartbeat thump under his lips. You mumble, he swears he can hear his name. “I’m here. Niichan’s here.” He smiles a little more when the soft fingers wrap back around his hand and he watches your expression relax even in your sleep. He can’t help it, the soft thumping against his cheek makes his entire body warm.

You’re so alive, and so close- every cell in his body yearns to be beside you. He kisses the area between your thumb and pointer in an attempt to soothe the feeling of biting down entirely. Instead he clasps your hand with two of his before standing up. “You would have loved Rika.” His mouth tingles. “She would’ve hated you- but you would have loved her. I think she would have been a bit jealous though.”

He dips to press a soft kiss onto your lips, humming softly when your warm breath dusts over his cheeks. “You’re so cute.” A few years ago, you would’ve had visitors waiting for you. “I know you were looking forward to graduation, but I’m still here for you.” He places his hands on both sides of your face to hover over you instead of pulling back, can’t keep himself from it.

“You don’t want to leave your niichan, right?” It’s not your fault that everyone else wants you to move on. He’ll take you just as you are. He has to force himself to pull back before he kisses you again, so you don’t wake just yet. You will. And you’ll cry into his chest about missing your precious graduation, and about being stuck here again, just when you were getting better. He never much wanted you in uni anyway.

From his space sat on the edge of your bed, he can easily see how the blanket squirms. How the motion curls and wiggles until he easily pulls the sheet down your chest, then your stomach.

Two beady eyes stare up at him as he brings his face a little closer. The fly head is still clinging to your stomach, hasn’t moved from where he left it. By now it’s become an accessory every few months. It’s not strong enough to kill you— just barely enough to keep you believing you’re still sick, and that’s all he really needs. You need his care, need him. He resists the urge to pick the thing up at least until he can take you back home.

Instead he nudges it up a little higher, so he can place his palm onto your belly to stroke gentle circles in its place, feeling the heat through the gown. He can feel your heart bounce all the way down your body, it’s so cute. When the little fodder curse crawls onto your chest, lids shooting open as you gasp. “Yuuta nii-” Your eyes are lined red, and as soon as they find him you start bawling.

More than happy to let him hike you up from the bed and into his arms, where you bury your face into his neck. Your hiccups are so cute. It’s easy to kiss them quiet when you don’t have enough breath to ask him to stop. He’s sure this time he could slip his tongue into your mouth and you wouldn’t say a thing.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[pucksandpower]

Fashionably Challenged

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: you and Max may not exactly be the paddock’s most stylish couple, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

You wake up to the sound of Max rummaging through the closet of your shared hotel suite. Rolling over, you see him laying out two matching outfits — the Red Bull Racing team polos, skinny jeans, and sneakers you’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

One set for him, one set for you.

“Morning, liefje,” he says, catching your gaze. “I have our outfits for the day ready to go.”

You smile sleepily. “Thanks, babe. You know me too well.”

Max grins as he walks over and climbs back into bed, throwing an arm around you. “Of course I do. Can’t have my girlfriend showing up to races looking anything less than perfect.”

You laugh and playfully shove him. “Oh shut up. You know I’d show up in a potato sack if I could.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says with mock seriousness. “I would never let you embarrass me like that.”

“Embarrass you?” You scoff. “Please, like you even notice what I’m wearing half the time. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to fashion.”

Max opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it, shrugging in admission. “Okay, fair point. But that’s why I always get you the same thing I’m wearing. So there’s no way we can mess it up.”

You consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We make a pretty fashionably challenged couple.”

“The most fashionably challenged,” he agrees with a laugh. He pauses, gaze growing serious. “But I like it that way. I like that we match.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. “Me too.”

The morning passes quickly as you get ready for the race. True to form, you both pull on the matching outfits without a second thought. As you’re walking out to the car, Max stops you.

“Wait,” he says, taking your hand and turning you to face him. He looks you up and down appraisingly. “You look perfect, just like always.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

He grins. “Not nearly enough.”

“Well I do,” you say, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schatje,” Max murmurs against your lips. “Now let’s go kick some ass today.”

The race goes well, Max taking the checkered flag to the roar of the crowds. As you’re waiting to congratulate him, a podcaster approaches you with a microphone.

“Hi there,” she says brightly. “I’m Lottie from The Racing Line. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple quick questions?”

“Oh, um, sure,” you’re a bit caught off guard.

“Great! So first off, you and Max always seem to be wearing matching outfits to the races. Is that something you two purposely coordinate as a cute couple thing?”

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. “Oh no, not at all actually. The truth is neither of us have much fashion sense at all. So Max just gets me the female version of whatever he’s wearing to make it easy.”

The podcaster looks disappointed. “Oh, I see. So it’s not some adorable couple tradition then?”

“Well, I mean, I guess in a way it kind of is?” You say quickly, feeling guilty. “Neither of us are really into fashion, so we end up matching by default anyway. I think it’s sweet that we always end up coordinating without even trying because we’re just so in sync.”

She perks up at that. “Aww, okay, I can see that! So even though it’s not on purpose, you’ve made your own cute little tradition out of it just by being so aligned. That’s really romantic.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well thank you so much for your time,” she shakes your hand. “And congratulations to Max on another win!”

“Thank you,” you reply as she walks away.

A few minutes later Max emerges, helmet under his arm and face lit up in that way you love. You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Congratulations baby, you were amazing out there as always.”

“Thank you, schatje,” he says, squeezing you close. He pauses, smile turning teasing. “Did you enjoy chatting with that podcaster earlier?”

You pull back, eyes narrowing. “You saw that, did you?”

He chuckles. “Of course I did. I always notice you.”

“Well then you also saw me have to completely backtrack and come up with some sappy story for why we match when she thought it was a cutesy couple thing,” you say dryly.

Max shrugs. “It kind of is though, isn’t it? Maybe not on purpose, but it’s become our thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” you admit. “I told her it was romantic how in sync we are, always coordinating outfits without even trying.”

“Hmm, I like that,” he says, grinning. “We really are pretty in sync, aren’t we? Two fashionably hopeless peas in a pod.”

You laugh. “That we are.” You look at him fondly. “But I love our way better than being one of those obnoxiously coordinated couples.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “Though I will admit ...” His gaze grows more serious. “Part of the reason I like matching is because it makes me happy to walk around wearing the same thing as you. Like we’re a unit, you know?”

Your heart skips a beat at the soft vulnerability in his voice. “Max Verstappen, you big old romantic,” you tease gently.

He shrugs but you can see the pleased look in his eyes. Sudden understanding washes over you.

“Wait a minute … is that why you got me the same outfit the first time? Not just because you thought it would be easier, but because you wanted us to match?”

Max stays silent for a moment before breaking into a sheepish grin. “You caught me.”

“Oh my god!” You shove his shoulder playfully. “You big sap!”

“What can I say? I like having my girl on my arm looking like the power couple we are,” Max says, pulling you close again. “Fashionably challenged or not.”

“If only everyone out there making you out to be the villain could see the cuddly teddy bear you really are. I absolutely love it,” you murmur, stretching up to kiss him. You can feel him smile against your lips.

As you break apart, Max squeezes your hand. “Come on, let’s go celebrate. In new matching outfits, of course.”

You pretend to roll your eyes exaggeratingly but allow him to lead you towards the exit, your hands intertwined. You truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

You and Max are curled up on the couch in your hotel room, his arm draped around you as you lean into his side. It’s a rare quiet moment between races and you’re savoring the feeling of Max’s fingers gently carding through your hair.

“Hey Max?” You say after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not looking away from the football match on the TV.

“I got an interesting offer today.”

That piques his interest and he turns his head to look at you. “Oh yeah? What kind of offer?”

You take a deep breath before answering. “A sponsorship deal, actually. From Oscar de la Renta.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, that’s … really great, liefje. I’m so happy for you.”

But something in his tone makes you frown slightly. “Are you though? You don’t sound that excited.”

He gives you a half smile. “No, no, I am! That’s a huge opportunity for your career and image. Having that kind of sponsorship deal is amazing.”

“But?” You prod knowingly.

Max lets out a breath, smile fading. “But I guess part of me is a little disappointed and maybe … worried?”

“About what?”

“Well,” he shifts uncomfortably. “I like being the one who picks out your outfits for the races. Our little unintentional matching tradition has kind of become my thing, you know? I’m worried if you get sponsored by some big designer brand you won’t wear the outfits I pick out anymore. That we won’t match.”

His tone is carefully casual but you can hear the undercurrent of vulnerability. Your heart clenches in your chest.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You really like our matching outfits that much?”

He averts his eyes but nods. “Yeah. I know it sounds silly, but I just … I like how in sync we are. How happy it makes me feel when we show up to the races looking like a real team. Like we’re truly partners in everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

The softness in his voice breaks your heart a little. You take his hand and give it a squeeze.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” you tell him gently. “Because I never would have accepted that offer anyway.”

Max blinks in surprise. “You wouldn’t?”

You shake your head. “Not a chance. First of all, they were pressuring me to only wear very high-end stuff, none of which really feels like my personal style. But more importantly ...” You lean in closer, maintaining eye contact. “They don’t have a men’s collection. So they couldn’t sponsor you too.”

Realization lights up his gaze. “Oh ...” he says softly.

You nod. “Exactly. I told them thanks but no thanks. Because no designer wardrobe is worth giving up what we have.”

Max looks stunned. “You … you turned them down? Just to keep matching with me?”

“Of course I did,” you say affectionately, poking his chest. “I would never give that up. How could I say yes to some fancy sponsorship that meant not having my fashionably challenged other half by my side, both looking like total goofballs in the one outfit the world thinks makes up the entirety of our closet?”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much.”

You relax into his embrace, overwhelmed by the rush of affection. “I love you too,” you whisper. You pull back slightly to look at him. “Did you really think I’d give up matching with you over that?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking a little sheepish. “I guess a small part of me was worried maybe you’d be tempted by the glamor and exposure of being a designer brand ambassador.”

“You know me better than that,” you affirm. “Our matching looks are too special to me. I adore everything about our little tradition — the fact that it started because neither of us cares about fashion, to you always picking out my outfits, and how happy it makes both of us to show up to races coordinating with each other.”

You take Max’s hand, intertwining your fingers. “Don’t you see, my love? It’s not really about the clothes at all, it’s about us. About how perfectly aligned we are in this little part of our lives. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Max’s eyes have gone suspiciously bright, his free hand reaching up to cradle your face. “But liefje … you could have had any designer clothing you wanted.” His voice is thick with emotion. “You turned that down … for me?”

Unable to find the words, you just nod, blinking back your own tears.

“I can’t believe it,” Max breathes out shakily. “You never cease to amaze me.”

You offer him a watery smile. “Well believe it, my love. Because there’s nothing in the world more precious to me than you and our bond. I wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything.”

A single tear escapes to trail down Max’s cheek and you quickly brush it away with your thumb. Seeming at a loss for words, he pulls you into a fierce hug, tucking your head under his chin as you settle into his embrace.

“I love you,” he finally whispers into your hair. “So damn much.”

“I love you too.” You pepper kisses along his neck and jaw until you reach his lips, capturing them in a deep, slow kiss that tries to convey every unspoken word of devotion and adoration.

When you finally break apart, Max gazes at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“God, you really are perfect,” he murmurs, running a hand reverently through your hair. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“No,” you shake your head with a soft smile. “I’m the lucky one. To have someone who loves me so fiercely, someone I love just as much in return.”

Max lets out a watery chuckle. “I think we’re both the lucky ones then.”

You settle back against his chest as he wraps his arms securely around you. For a while neither of you speaks, lost in your own thoughts as you simply bask in each other’s presence. You let your eyes drift shut as Max’s fingers resume their gentle motions through your hair.

Eventually you break the silence.

“You know we’re going to have to get even cuter matching outfits now to make up for it,” you murmur teasingly.

Max’s chest rumbles with laughter against your cheek. “Deal. Anything you want, schatje. I’ll make sure we’re the most adorable fashionably challenged couple at every single race from now on.”

You smile at the warmth and conviction in his voice. “No one could ever call us uncoordinated.”

“Never,” Max affirms, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We’re perfectly matched in every way that matters.”

You sigh contentedly as you snuggle further into his embrace. In that moment, you know he’s absolutely right. You couldn’t imagine a better match than your Max.

[scuderiahalf]

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

.

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC idea:

Paulina Sanchez becomes the Wayne family's new PR manager. She works hand-in-hand with Alfred and Tim's secretary (maybe another Amity Parker?) to coordinate meetings with the press and keeps a lid on the family's more unique civilian adventures.

Everything is going well until she suddenly comes onto the comm system late at night, startling Nightwing so badly that he almost misses his next flip.

"Robin, don't forget to assist the civilian. They're recording the fight and will probably post it on their Instagram later."

"Batman, turn to the left a little bit. The street lamp is casting an ugly shadow; you need to seem more mysterious."

"Red Hood, don't forget to return the heads of the gang leaders in a canvas bag this time, not polyester. It'll add to the ambiance of the situation."

Little snippets like these filled their ears each and every night, despite all surveillance indicating that Miss Sanchez was home asleep in her bed. Was someone copying the manager's voice on purpose? Why couldn't they trace where the extra comm signal was coming from? Was Paulina Sanchez a spy sent to rattle their resolve? What was going on???

It was a lot more innocent than the paranoid-stricken Waynes thought. Paulina was simply doing her job according to Amity Park's logic.

Most people didn't have some weird lair in their basement, usually filled with world-ending secrets. But 9/10 Amity Parkers did, so it was a cinch to find the entrance to the Batcave on her first day. And when Paulina signed on as a manager, she didn't realize that the job did not extend to the family's nightlife. Nor did she realize that no one else knew who the Batfamily were since Amity Parkers could clock secret identities in an instant. (Thanks for that wish, Wes.)

So while the Waynes are freaking out about the breach in their system, Paulina is mentally patting herself on the back for being so good at her job. She even utilized her hard-earned sneaking-out and liminal skills to create a fake body double to confuse any aggressive intruders that crept into her apartment while she was gone. And honestly, the Bats have never had such a positive online reputation! Getting Tucker to encrypt her secondary social medias was the right call. Now she can post about her bosses without anything being traced back to her.

Paulina is a little peeved about her overtime pay not showing up on her paychecks, however. Maybe she'll bring that up to Mr. Wayne the next time she sees him.

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[teaboot]

if ur a murderbot nerd now do u have any fun opinions abt it yet?

Oh my goddd you have no idea

I really, really, really like Murderbot because it comes at life with this perspective we don't often see that is very real among people who have already been through traumatic experiences, who developed skills and abilities to suvive that were once useful but no longer have context- that search that traumatized people go through to recalibrate and reorient ourselves in a world where we no longer really need those things to survive.

A bit personal here, but my own issues personally involved a lot of psychological abuse that made it difficult to trust my own perceptions of reality, and as a result I found I was very easy to lie to and manipulate.

To handle this, I became obsessive over writing things down, cataloging details and making notes of things as they happened- I'd carry recording devices and make audio recordings and stay up late at night to transcribe what they'd picked up, read those over and over again to reassure myself of things I wasn't certain about.

While doing this, there were others close to me that I felt responsible for, who I had to protect from others and protect myself from at the same time. Life was about two things: Evidence, and defusing threats

Over time, I learned to trust myself as my memories matched what had been recorded where their narrative didn't, but I never really kicked the habit. Like Murderbot, I had added something to my own programming that reassured me I was safe, that I was in control of myself, that I couldn't be mistaken or crazy or broken or used.

I'm only on book two, but already I see myself in Murderbot again. No spoilers here, but when I left home- left that dangerous context- I didn't need to repeat these patterns to survive anymore, but I still did, because I didn't know anything else anymore. It felt safe, comfortable, knowing knowing that the past couldn't repeat itself, because I'd written that flaw- blind trust in myself-  out of my programming and replaced it with something else.

Still, though, I'd become something specially suited to thrive in a very specific environment. Nothing else felt right like followinghigh-risk situations, like witnessing and watching and recording and knowing I had proof of the truth where others might not.

People took notice. I wound up in security by accident, but's an environment that I thrive in due to the same patterns and behaviours I originally developed when I had no other choice. I climbed the ladder pretty quickly, once supervisors caught on that my reports were the most accurate, most objective, most factual, detail-oriented and timely. I keep others and myself safe and prioritize public safety above all else, and I perform well under pressure

Now I'm in a position where I often wonder, do I enjoy this job, or is it just what I'm good at? I have a set of skills now, but do I have the option of choosing not to use them? What would I be, if not this? Could I be anything else? Can Murderbot be anything else?

It has a set of skills that set it apart, make it different, special. It does what it knows best. But is it free? Does it want to be? What does it want? Does it have to do what it was built to do? What if it didn't?

I know what I'm good for. The idea of deliberately leaving what I'm good for for something uncertain, that I might hate, that I might be useless at- the choice to give up what was so important to me for so long and become deliberately obsolete?

Let go of my entire purpose? The only thing I know, that I fit so well into but don't actually know if I enjoy? Now that I can choose? Now that enjoyment is a luxury I can afford to consider?

Yeah, that resonates.

I like the Murderbot series so far because it feels the way I feel: Like the most significant and formative part of my story, the part where I became what I am, has already happened

And now I have to just. Keep going

Into... what?

It feels absurd. Like a microwave giving up on reheating food and deciding to start a life around abstract dance.

So, uh. Yeah. It's really very wild to see this same philosophical-ish dilemma I've been digging over in the back of my mind and in therapy for the last forever laid out so plainly in a genuinely exciting and enjoyable story like this. I feel much less alone, and I... kind of really need to see how it resolves, I think.

So, uh. Yeah. Read Murderbot, I guess

[weasvlys]

Band Rehearsal

Rodrick Heffley x Y/N (Fem! Reader)

Warnings: Smutty, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, sexual graphic content, explicit language, interrupted sex.

Word count: 1579.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Math..." you said under your breath as you looked for your book in your locker, until suddenly a hand closed it, "ahhg" you gasped, Your gaze immediately settled on the worm-eaten black nail polish, without a doubt, it was Rodrick Heffley, "What is your problem?" You asked him angrily, ever since you entered the band it seemed like he never got tired of bothering you, he had a smile from ear to ear, a bit mischievous, he clumsily put his hand on his head and his elbow on the locker, trying to... flirt?, “Band Rehearsal, at 6, and don’t be late!” he said, emphasizing the last sentence, and vanished.

It was frustrating to be with him, his joking look and his mischievous smile, always feeling his gaze on you, it made your legs tremble, and when he reached his hand a little lower on your back, a little higher on your leg, or he came a little closer than normal, you could feel your heart beating faster, and the most frustrating thing was not knowing if he did it on purpose, to make you nervous and lose focus, or worst, it simply didn't mean anything to him and he did it accidentally.

You arrived at his house, expecting the garage door to be open, however, it wasn't, frustrated you went to the front door, you rang the doorbell twice and waited for the answer from his cheerful mother, who always welcomed you with a kind smile, and regularly a "you look beautiful today", however, you didn't receive that, you heard some heavy and fast feet coming down the stairs and when the door opened you saw an agitated Rodrick, "Hello…" you said in a sigh, you could avoid getting nervous at his look, "Can I come in?" you said in a sigh, you couldn't help but get nervous at his gaze, immediately Rodrick opened the door wider, letting you into his spotless house "It's the kitchen door" he said, referring to where the garage was, as soon as you walked in and saw that, again, you were the first to arrive, "They're late.. again" you said, "Today it's just you and me", Rodrick said, that, for some reason made you feel butterflies "How come?", you ask, and Rodrick gave you a look, confirming your biggest fear, on that occasion, it would be just you and him.

The practice started, you were the vocalist, and just that time you couldn't concentrate, and you couldn't reach any note correctly, so, by the fifth time you stopped Rodrick's rhythm, he got up from his stool so hard that it almost flew away, he threw the drumsticks to the wall in front of you, that genuinely scared you, "What's wrong with you?!" You asked upset, "Y/N, this is the fifth time we do this, can't you concentrate? Y/N?!" he said, putting in front of you, "What's wrong?", his voice was starting to calm down, he looked you in the eyes, that made your voice crack, "I-I don't know..." you said, his eyebrows raised, worried, he bent down a little to be right at your level, "Y/N" he said in a sigh, almost sexual, "What's wrong?", that tender and soft way he spoke to you made you let it all out, "I'm nervous, okay?!" you said, frustrated, "And if we perform in front of an audience, will you still be nervous too?" Rodrick said, "No! I-" you tried to retort, but that one couldn't seem to get out of your throat.

"Look, here's what we'll do" he said as he sat down on the couch in front of you, "I'll sit here, I'll look at you and I need you to forget the nervousness. I won't stop until you do..." those last words seemed to have a different kind of connotation, you decided to ignore him, there was no chance to think what could be inside his mind "One.... Two... Three..." as soon as he finished you started, looking him straight in the eyes, however, by the second verse, his mischievous smile made you lose your concentration again, you suddenly shut up and lowered your gaze, Rodrick snapped his mouth, sighed and said "Have you ever heard of when we are nervous we have to imagine the audience naked?" Those words made you tremble, you nodded your head without saying more, "We'll do that, but literally" his voice became deeper, he got up from the couch, and without taking off his lustful look, he lowered his hands by the edge of his shirt and lifted it, slowly, letting you see his thin, but marked abdomen, that took your breath away "Start again" he said, "Rodrick-" you try to reply "Just do it" he said interrupting you, you rolled your eyes and started again, but after a few seconds, the smile that was forming on his lips weakened you, "Wow, I didn't think it would be that easy", he lowered his hands again, this time to his pants, he placed his slender fingers on the buckle of his belt, he opened it slowly, with a mouth open, his fingers traveled to the button of his jeans, he opened it, and pulled down his pants, revealing his boxer, where you could perfectly appreciate his bulge, big and juicy, bigger than expected. 

You could not avoid looking at his crotch and he, looking at your reaction, laughed, "Do you like what you see?", he asked laughing, he knew what he was doing, he sat down again "Start again", he commanded, but the words were not able to come out of your mouth "Do what I tell you to...", that second reply made you feel weaker, you could not resist, and you started to sing, that situation, unusually, made you concentrate a little more, but not quite, you went out of tune again and Rodrick, without saying anything, got up from the couch, came closer to your face, gave a soft and sweet kiss on your cheek, then on your jaw, on your neck, and you couldn't resist moaning, he started to lower his kisses, and when he reached your crotch he knelt in front of you, he put his fingers in the edge of your jeans, unbuttoned them, and started to pull them down, without letting his gaze off, "Keep singing", he said, almost in a whisper, and you followed his order, every note was perfect while you felt his hot breath on your panties, and without further ado, he put his cold fingers on the edge of your panties, and he began to pull them down along with his kisses.

He opened his mouth,letting his tongue out, which made a line right across your entry to your clit, where he dedicated some soft and gentle strokes, not taking his eyes off you for one second, to then the band rehearsal was officially over, and now your mouth only let out pornografic moans, which sounded across the four walls.

He stood up, looking at you to the eyes and said in a deep full of lust voice “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear”, took you by the neck and passionately kissed you, which you replied, you took your hands inside is boxer to found his big hard-rock cock, the moment you touched him he deliciously moaned, like he was dying for it to happen, “Yes~…” he said, he pulled his boxers down and you finally saw hies 9 inch dick bounced out of his jeans, with a red trobbing tip, waiting to be inside you.

“Get in the couch baby, please~…” he said, in such a desperate way, almost begging, you got in four, shaking your ass, waiting for him to enter, he places his tip on your crotch, and even he was desperate for it to happens, he started to torture you, letting it in a bit, your as soon as he did, que took it out, in exasperation, you gasped, “Please Rod… Let me feel you…” you said, you never thought you’d would he saying that, “You wanted in?” He asked, almost growling “yes… please” you responded, “how much?” He replied, letting it a bit more, “Aggh~Fuck… so much” you said, moaning, and with no further action he strucked his 9 inches right inside you, letting the wet noices out, followed by a fast in pain and pleasure “Awwh, you are so wet, and so hot…” he said, so loud that could be heard outside, he late his big cock out again, and stuck you, one more time, allowing him to feel your sweet spot, “Yes Rod!” You screamed, and all of the sudden, key noices started to sound, and the sound of the lock on the front door, “Rodrick?! I’m home!”, Mrs. Jeffrey was home, and with no hesitation you and Rodrick started to get dressed up, as quickly as you could, the steps came closer and door opend in a blink, fortunately, you where already all dressed up, “Oh! Hi hon’, didn’t knew you were home” she said, “where in a rehearsal, mom.” Rodrick said in a shaky nervous voice, “Oh, sure thing, I thing I heard you outside” she said and left the room with no further action, and laughs came out of the both of you, “Next time, we’ll do it in my place”, you said, “Next time?” Rodrick replied in that same teasing way.

[taxitransfersrugby]

Airport taxi Service - airporttransfersrugby

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

ASTROLOGY EDITION - THE SENSUAL APPEAL OF THE NAKSHATRAS

Hey, so I've been more focused on the nakshatras lately.. and love getting into how sensual, flirtatious, raw and powerful some of the nakshatras could be. I may start this off with just the nakshatras itself, focusing on the sign and its energy as opposed to the planets in each of these naks. So yeah. Lets get into it ;)

So first is up, Hasta. There the ones who really inspired me to do this so here we go.

Hasta - Delicate. Refined. Opened Hearts. Very sensual beings who know how to ease you into to their souls. They have a replenishing auras that could fulfill the desires of another. Oop, did I say that? They are indeed the temptress, the ones that will make you fall in love with, as they know you will never get anything from the in return. Having been hurt in the past, they usually carry themselves with a tight armor, only this time they know they wont have to... Because someone will always take the bait ;)

Hastas are truly amazing at crafting their hearts into the desires that they want. So much so, they'll utilize their sex appeal in order to get what they want. Very smart, coi and productive... Their like the jaguar you dont see coming. They always get what they want, because others are more than likely to give to the hastanian babe whenever they please.

Rohini - Ooooooh! They are sooo seductive. They have a quiet temper that is aroused when the right soul meets into their arms. They're only lovers for the plot. If it gets too deep and on the wrong foot then their outta here. Sorry busta!If you don't give it to them the right way, then they won't be here for long. They are only here for one purpose, and that is to fulfill their desires in more ways than one. Like their hasta friends, they know how to go for what they want, and they'll get it by any means necessary.

There temptress powers they carry can attract an audience if they let it. There touch can last for hours, penetrating into the skin like magic. They are the doorway to salvation. Pleasure is their profound language. It is a blessing and a curse to be this type of delight. A special occasion, they keep anyone anyway who is not deserving of their love.

Anuradha - I feel like this one deserves a round of applause ONLY because they do not share these gifts so easily. The people could want more but that isn't enough. Once they get a hold of your tempting magic people will definitely try and take you to the pits of hell. So its kept in a jar, locked away for a while until the anuradha babe is ready to go for the kill. When she wants it, she will. And when mama's hungry, shes gonna eat ;) Siren-like eyes that can penetrate into your soul. It can spook you ;) But all the Anuradha wants is to entice, it is how she gets what she desires. She has a flow that is naturally pulling like the Jyestha, we don't know what it is but its powerful, convincing, and its rare. The anuradha is the type to pull yu in, to the point that when she catches you in her spell.. she will eat you alive. Its better to stay away if you dont want to be bit, but her allure is just so damn powerful. It'll have you begging for more.

Krittikas - Their raw sexuality will pour into your skin, and before you know it.. they've already gotten you into their mini web. Darling.. the ones who where this nakshatra on their sleeves use every bit of their power to seduce the right one.. sometimes it catches others too. There striking presence keeps the others wondering where have they been all of their life. The one who moves to the beat of their own drum, tameless. It is why so many try to focus on wooing you in order to make you into what THEY want you to be.. and you beat em at their game every time. The seductive prowess they carry show a reflective force from the moon down to the sun, with its rays being so powerful it has everyone looking at them.. waiting to explore what is deep inside the krittika, only to be found later in their dungeon. Taking their souls, and never to be heard of again.

Shravana - They have a very powerful aura that pushes the narrative about themselves. They have the gift that keeps on giving. They know what to do with their seduction, its the one that gets them the highest bidder! What shapes you, is the power of the mind, the soul and the spirit. So they do themselves the diligence to create from within, and not without. They are hungry to learn more about their presence as their gifts connect to the souls of thousands.. What I mean is that these babes have a gift of opening up the godlike force that many try to emulate.. but many can't do. There seductive prowess inspires thousands to watch them as they watch to the shravana native, craving for their affection.. As they can be so very giving, but with a price. It all comes down to them wanting to be at the top, and they'll whatever they can to get it. It comes with a sense of ease, and they'll choose their favorite worshiper to teach ;)

Mula - HOT HOT HOT!!!!!! They don't even know how deep this goes.. but they penetrate into your skin with no effort. There gift is in spiking you with their mind, and leading you in with their heart.. They know how to entice you into doing for them and fitting to their needs.. You wont even blink an eye and yet wont even care. You'll just be glad to be in their presence is all. They have a special aura that most find pretty enchanting, and their souls spark a conversation one what makes them so unique.. because most people are mystified by them and begin to take notes.. but they will never know what that is to be exact. Which is what makes their seductive prowess just that damn good. It exists for them and them alone.. if they decide to share this with you consider yourself LUCKY.. Because they like you more than the rest, and who they are and how they carry themselves is a gift you when they want to share it.. Whew.. they'll really touch you in ways you won't forget.

I will post on the rest of them soon. Let me know in the comments how you feel about the nakshatras !!

[freedomfireflies]

A-Mazing*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you and Harry find yourselves lost in a corn maze together.

Word Count: 7.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, size kink, Daddy kink, enemies dynamic, Harry being a little bitch 🫶

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Harry smirks as he turns to you, hands sliding into his hoodie pocket. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m serious, I’m not getting stuck with you,” you argue, glancing toward the rest of the group that’s already heading inside the corn maze. “Seriously, please. Anybody else. I will take literally anybody else.”

“Well, you don’t get anybody else,” Harry snorts, much too smug for your liking. “You were late.”

“Yeah, and I was late because I was fixing your mistake,” you remind him. “It took me three hours to recode that sequence. And I’m still not finished—"

“Right, because it wasn’t a fucking mistake, Princess. The way I designed it was going to help it run three times more efficiently than the way Prescott suggested. And you just fucking undid it—"

“You weren’t asked to make it more efficient. You were told to do it the way the client wanted—”

“Well, the way the client wanted it was slow and stupid—”

“And you would be the authority on slow and stupid.”

Harry’s eyes narrow while his lips press into a thin line, looking quite incensed. “Very mature. Are we going in or what?”

“Fine,” you agree through a heavy exhale, shoving past him to head toward the entrance.

You have no idea why you even agreed to come in the first place. Sure, the idea of getting a few coworkers together for some fall fun was sweet, but truth be told, you don’t really care about any of these people outside of the office. You don’t care to see them, or get to know them, or hang out with them.

And the one person you do know happens to also be the one person you can’t stand.

Corn mazes are fun. Even pairing up to do them together is kind of exciting.

But with him? You’d rather get lost.

“All right, here’s your map,” the kind, older woman at the table says, handing you a piece of paper. “Answer the questions at each fork and follow the path according to your answer.”

You nod your understanding and offer a quick thank you before slipping past the tent and toward the beginning of the maze. The setting sun casts shadows across the field as you both make your way through the stocks.

You feel a sense of adventure as you make your way to the first checkpoint. Taking in the lingering scent of kettle corn somewhere off in the distance, and the excited chatter of the other people inside the maze. It’s exhilarating, and you feel a sense of purpose as you stride forward. Spurred on by a need to win – to do better than him.

And you hear Harry subtly huff from somewhere behind you, clearly annoyed with the way you’ve left him behind. “Real fucking mature,” he scoffs, and you can practically hear his eyes roll. “We’re supposed to be a team, Tinkerbell. You know, work together.”

“Well, I don’t want to be on a team with you,” you retort. “And we’ve never worked well together. As is evident by your complete lack of common sense and understanding of the system we’re trying to design.”

“Oh, this shit again—"

“Yes, this shit again. You’re costing us time and money by trying to prove you’re so much better than everyone else—”

“Well, I can’t exactly help it if I am, now, can I?”

You feel your expression fall as you spin on your heel to face him. “You’re fucking annoying, is what you are. It’s not my job to clean up after you. Okay, I’m not your mother, I’m not your babysitter. I am your equal. And it’s about fucking time you start treating me like it.”

Even in the dark, murky space, you can see a certain glimmer in his eye. One that challenges the frown on his face.

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for a response. “Careful what you wish for, Princess.”

With that, he shoves past you and forges ahead into the maze. Leaving you to stare at his back with a glower.

You’re both silent as you approach the first fork, offering nothing more than looks of indignation and huffs of apathy as you raise your map and scan the question. 

“What does WWW stand for in a website browser?” you read aloud before snorting. “World Wide Web. C.”

An easy question. You both know the answer, and there's no way he can argue with you.

So, instead, he says nothing. Merely glancing over the paper almost skeptically before heading toward the third row.

Pocketing the trivia questions, you chase after him. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? The silent treatment?”

Harry’s back stays to you as he slips between the stocks. “I’m not giving you the fucking silent treatment; I’m not twelve.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Because you’re a fucking brat.”

The vicious way he sneers the word sends a certain reaction down your spine, but you brush it away just as quickly as it appeared. “I thought I was your teammate.”

“You said it yourself, we’re not a team,” he retorts. “You’re not my babysitter, and you’re not my mother. Unless what you were really trying to say is that you want me to call you Mommy.”

You feel yourself hesitate, confused, and slightly startled by the suggestion. “Ew. Why would I want that?”

You see his shoulder lift and fall in a shrug. “I don’t know. You’ve always been a kinky little thing. Maybe it gets you off.”

“Oh, fuck you, I don’t have a mommy kink. Especially not with you.”

“Fine, a daddy kink then. Don’t think I forgot how eager you were to say it last time—”

“That was for you,” you hiss, once again glaring at his hooded back. “Okay, I was trying to see if you liked it, and you did—”

“Of course I did. It’s hot.”

“Sure, yeah. But I’m the kinky one?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I’m just saying, if you want me to call you mommy…all you have to do is ask.”

You come to the second fork, forcing the conversation to a halt as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine.”

You unfold the map and search for the next question. “What is cynophobia?”

“Easy. Fear of cats.”

“That’s ailurophobia, you dipshit. Cynophobia is a fear of dogs.”

“Dipshit. Classy. No, that’s real nice, Tink. Very romantic.”

“Well, it’s true. Look it up.”

“Can’t,” he says calmly. Confidently. “There’s no service in here.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know?”

“Cause I’ve done this before. Many times.”

Your eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“…why?”

There’s a brief pause before he says, “She used to love it here.”

Your heart instantly drops into your toes, grimace untwisting as you glance toward the ground. “Oh.”

Another shrug. “Point is, I can’t look it up. So…pick whichever. I don’t care.”

Swallowing thickly, you gesture toward the second exit. “B. The answer is dogs. My brother used to have it when he was younger.”

And for the first time all evening, it’s Harry’s turn to look surprised as he nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you learn that from my file?” you tease, and you notice his lips twitch up into a smirk.

“Not exactly.”

“Yeah, well…I don’t really talk about him. He doesn’t live here, he lives back home. After my dad left, he stuck around to take care of our mom.”

You see a flash of sympathy streak across his expression, but you’re brushing him off before he can comment.

“Anyway, it’s B,” you repeat, walking toward the middle row. “If you don’t believe me, then go your own way.”

For a moment, Harry hesitates, almost as though considering it. Then, he sighs, and begrudgingly follows your lead.

This time around, you’re both quiet. Listening to the sounds of everyone else further on in the maze laughing, or talking, or squealing with excitement.

A few scattered lamps help guide you through the dark labyrinth. You can see the wind move through the corn stocks. The way they rustle as they sway with the breeze, adding an element of eeriness to the already spooky scene.

Furthermore, the night air is beginning to grow cold. The fall chill nipping at your skin and reminding you once more that it’s no longer summer as you shiver and pull your jacket further around your body. 

“Should have brought a real coat,” Harry comments, almost haughtily, and it makes your eyes roll. “It’s October, Princess. Can’t wear booty shorts and flip flops anymore.”

Despite the fact that you’re wearing neither of those, you still feel the need to scoff, “Well, of course it’s not cold to you. You’re already dead inside.”

“Ooo, ouch. You got me. Sick burn, Tink. Real sick.”

His flippant response makes your skin crawl. “You are so fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“And you’re a fucking brat, do you know that?”

“I’m not a brat, I’m just right.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Yeah, it is whatever I say, actually. I’m the one with the fucking map.”

To prove your point, you wave the paper in the air before stopping beside the next checkpoint.

“What are the names of the four women on the show, The Golden Girls?” you read, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Uh…I know Rose is one of them.”

“And Betty White,” Harry adds.

“No, her character. Not her,” you huff. “And I’m pretty sure Betty played Rose, so that’s only one.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” he scoffs before glancing over the multiple-choice answers. “Then it’s probably A or C. Those are the only ones with Rose in them.”

“Well, we have to pick one. Okay, we can’t do both—”

“Yes, I fucking know that, Tinkerbell. I’m just narrowing it down—”

“Well, maybe be less condescending about it.”

“Fine,” he nearly snaps, angrily stabbing at the map with his finger. “A. Dorothy, Rose, Blanch, and Samantha.”

“No, that doesn’t sound right. I don’t think they had a Samantha. It was…it was something else. Either Sophia or Sarah.”

“Well, you have to pick one. You can’t have both,” he repeats mockingly, and you begin to glare. “Besides, statistically, it’s more likely they switch up the letters with each guess. We’ve already done B and C. Next should be A.”

“Really? That’s your reasoning?”

“That’s my reasoning. Take it or leave it.”

And you don’t like it. You don’t feel convinced by it. But you decide – just this once – to put your faith in his incessant need to be right. To trust him and his judgment.

You nod once. A curt gesture of good will as he sighs gratefully and takes off toward the first row. 

An eerie feeling follows you as you trail behind. Perhaps an ominous warning to turn around. That something is about to go wrong.

At first, you shake it away. Equating it with your distaste for the man before you.

But soon…you see the real reason why.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you groan when you’re both forced to a stop by a dead end. “See? What did I tell you?”

“Fuck off, you didn’t tell me shit, Princess. It’s a dead end, not death,” he huffs. “We’ll turn around and try again.”

“Can we? We passed like two other rows and now I can’t remember which way we came.”

“Well, that’s not my fault.”

“Oh, bite me, Harold.”

“Just tell me where.”

You feel your heart race beneath your chest. Spurred on by adrenaline, slight fear, and the brisk cold air. “Can you please stop being so infuriating?”

“Can you please stop being such a bitch?” he replies cooly before his eyes flick down toward your shivering frame. “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, I know,” you grit through clenched, chattering teeth. “It’s cold. And don’t you dare make another joke about flip flops. I don’t have the energy to slap you.”

That arrogant smirk returns. “Cute. Told you, you should have brought a coat.”

“Well, I didn’t,” you hiss. “So can we please just get the fuck out of here before I freeze to death?”

Harry’s eyes roll, but you notice his grin grow as he sighs and lifts a hand toward the collar of his hoodie.

In one fluid motion, he’s slipping the sweatshirt up his torso and over his head to hand to you. Dangling the dark fabric between your bodies as you stare at it incredulously.

“Take it,” he grumbles, waving the material in your direction. “And don’t fucking say I’m never nice to you.”

Stunned, you blink quickly. “What…are you doing?”

“Just put it on,” he huffs, gesturing toward you again. “Cause, if you die out here, I’m not dragging your body back.”

Your eyelids narrow into small slits while you cautiously reach for the hoodie. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Once you’ve taken it, he uses his knuckle to shove his glasses back into position. “Like you said, I can’t get cold. I’m dead inside.”

You smile at this before pulling the cozy jacket over your head. It smells…good. It smells like him. Radiating heat and the faint scent of his cologne. 

Truth be told, it feels like a warm hug. Something you can’t imagine Harry ever giving you on his own. And a part of you feels…relieved. Relaxed and almost…enamored. Perhaps even grateful.

“Thanks,” you murmur, snuggling against the fabric before slipping your hands into the pocket. “You didn’t…have to. I know being nice isn’t your thing.”

He snorts, turning now toward the tall lookout platform just beside the dead end. “Whatever. Maybe we should go up and see if we can see the exit.”

“Okay.”

With that, he turns toward the stairs and begins the trek up. You rush after him, trying hard to see the steps without much light, and thankfully making it to the top in one piece as you begin to look around. 

It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning, the design lit up by the soft glow of the moon. An almost romantic touch, although you shake the thought away. You can see a few groups spread out throughout the rest of the maze, but most of them are already making their way out. Having figured out the riddles much quicker than the two have seemed to.

You pout. “Nuts.”

“Yeah,” he agrees in a low grumble. “Okay, we’ll…we’ll turn around. Maybe you were right. Maybe it was C. We can try that next.”

It’s strange to hear him admit you could have been correct, and you can’t help but smirk as you nod. “Okay.”

You follow Harry down the other side, focusing your attention on your footing as you take each step one at a time.

But once you’re toward the bottom, your tennis shoe suddenly catches on a rogue nail, and you begin to stumble. Body falling forward before you can even reach for the railing.

Instantly, Harry – who’s already made it back to the ground – reaches out for your arms, slipping his hands beneath your elbows to help steady you and catch you just in the nick of time. Sparing you from a rather embarrassing fall.

You gasp as you’re flung forward, allowing yourself to settle in his embrace for support while you work on your balance and place your feet back where they need to be.

And once you’re sure you’re sturdy, you take a deep breath, and straighten up.

“Shit,” you whisper, lashes fluttering from the rush of adrenaline, and the feel of his touch. “I hate these shoes.”

You expect a snarky quip, but instead, you see his expression twist from behind his glasses as he glances over your face. Hands still glued to your arms. “Are you all right?”

A bit stunned by the soft and rather gentle tone of voice, you nod once. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m…sorry. I should have been looking.”

He seems confused by your apology but chooses to ignore it, instead watching you closely as if monitoring your reaction. “If you wanted me to hold you, Tinkerbell, you could have just said so.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, cheeks growing warm as you push yourself out of his arms. “Fuck off.”

“Fuck off? Or fuck me?”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Maybe I’m not being funny,” he argues. “Maybe I mean it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

You snort. “Harry, come on. This would be the last place to fuck.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why. What’s wrong with it? It’s dark. Secluded. There’s the element of getting caught, which I know you like.”

“Harry,” you repeat, almost doubtfully. “We…there’s no place to even do it. It’s way too exposed, and cold, and dangerous. We’d be better off just fucking in my car.”

“If we can even find our way back to your car,” he retorts teasingly. “Besides, I thought you liked danger.”

You gaze at him with suspicion, feeling that odd racing return to your chest. “You’re not being serious, are you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t at first, but…it’s not a bad idea.”

“Please. You can’t be that horny that you have to fuck me every time we see each other.”

“Okay, well, I’m not and I don’t,” he scoffs. “It’s just…different.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Another shrug, but this time, he’s stepping closer. Those soft, green eyes dancing down your body as if drinking you in. Indulging in the sight of you. “I don’t know,” he repeats, a bit quieter. Thicker. “There’s just…something about you, in my clothes. It’s…it’s good. You look good.”

The look in his eye is primal. Breeding a new sense of desire deep within the pit of your stomach. You shift under his lustful gaze, fingers curling into your fist from inside the pocket.

“Thanks, I guess,” you manage to say, noticing the way he continues to move closer. “It is comfy.”

“Good,” he mumbles, still studying your stance before dragging his attention back up to your face. “And you’re warm?”

“Getting there.”

A short nod. “You know…there are other ways of heating you up.”

The sneaky remarks are back, and even though you can feel your legs squeezing together from the suggestive tone of voice, you grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He finally reaches you, fingers outstretching for the front of his hoodie. Moving up your chest almost innocently before slipping around the back of your neck. “Want me to keep you warm, Tink?”

And you want to tease him a little longer, make him wait. Suffer.

But he’s too good. He’s always been too good at catching you off guard and luring you into submission. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you, the way he pulls you closer with the palm of his hand. You can practically taste him. Can smell him everywhere. Feel him in places he’s not even touching you.

And you need it. You need him, you want him. Right now, more than anything.

“Yes,” you exhale, almost shakily. “Yes, please—”

He surges forward, lips connecting with yours almost violently. Stealing the rest of your plea before you can make it.

You can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but whimper as he sucks on your tongue and presses his fingers harder against your head. Trapping you against his mouth until you feel dizzy. 

And he’s so warm. A stark contrast to the brisk, autumn air. And he’s soft in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Inviting. As though he’s been waiting his whole life to lay his mouth to yours.

“Har—” you gasp when he pulls back to nip at your bottom lip. “Har, please—”

You sound deranged. Wounded, almost, and so goddamn pitiful. You’re tugging on his shirt, trying to yank him impossibly closer. Tilting to the left for a deeper angle and raising up onto your toes in order to taste him fully.

“Easy,” he whispers, and it’s so very strained. Like he’s using what little strength he still has to speak to you. “Easy, Princess. S’okay, I’ve got you.”

It’s possessive the way he talks to you. Commanding you to listen. Insisting that your pleasure is his. That your wellbeing is in his hands.

He’s not a caring man by nature. At least not to you. But in moments like this, his dominance takes control. Turning him into a desperate man eager to care for you. To protect you and keep you safe.

Perhaps it’s a more caveman mindset. The idea that he needs to look after you. That you’re his to keep and care for.

But right now…you adore it. Feel safe in the idea of submitting to him.

“Please,” you try again, breathless and desperate as you cling to his strong frame and beg him for something only he can give you. “Harry, please…hurts.”

There’s a teasing glimmer in his eye, brightened by the reflection of his glasses. “Yeah? Is it achy, Tink?”

You nod quickly, grabbing onto his other hand to slide it down your stomach. Right toward where you need him most.

And he lets himself be moved, watching with intrigue at the way his fingers are dragged toward your thighs. Smirking rather sadistically while pressing his palm against your pussy with fervor.

You whine at the subtle friction, already attempting to grind down against the heel of his hand as he meets your pace with soft strokes of his own. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching your hips before returning his attention to your face. “Feels good, baby, yeah? Like to use me, don’t you?”

Another quick nod, and you sigh contently when he presses his lips to your cheek. Placing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“Har,” you try again, nuzzling closer. “Har, they’re…they’re gonna see. Can’t…can’t do it here—”

“Yes we can,” he replies calmly. And the soft, secure tone of voice instantly turns your insides to jelly. “Promise I won’t let them see, okay? Gonna keep you to myself.”

He removes his hand from your pussy to place it on your hip. Guiding you back until you feel your body connect with something hard. You glance around just long enough to find that it’s the wooden frame of the lookout. And he keeps you trapped there as he hides you both beneath the structure, tucking you away from any prying eyes that might pass.

“There,” he says, grinning to himself at the eager look on your face. “Now Daddy can see just how wet you really are, hm?”

You can tell he’s using the nickname sparingly. Tentative of your reaction as he waits to see how you might feel about it.

And truthfully, you hadn’t anticipated liking it as much as you do. Especially in this moment, when he’s giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s like music to your ears, orgasmic just to listen to.

You swallow thickly and nudge your nose against his cheek. “Yes, Daddy.”

He tenses beneath your touch, cursing against the shell of your ear before he whispers, “Show me.”

He returns his hand to yours, allowing your fingers to interlock as you shakily guide him toward your jeans. 

After a bit of maneuvering, you get the zipper down, and help slip his hand inside your underwear. Straight down to your cunt as his fingers glide through your folds until he can find what he’s looking for. 

“Oh, Tink,” he coos almost sympathetically. Stroking your pussy as you move to grip his wrist excitedly. “S’all wet, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wooden board for stability. “Hurts.”

“I bet,” he tsks, sliding his middle finger toward your hole. Circling it once before glancing over your expression. “Need something to fill you up, hm? Get you warm again?”

You hum your agreement, tugging his touch further into you as he chuckles and steps closer. “Please…”

“What, baby? What do you need?”

You whimper again and roll your hips against his fingers. Needing the friction of his thumb against your clit which he refuses to give you.

“What do you want, hm?” he mumbles, dipping down to ghost his lips across yours. “Just ask…and Daddy will give you anything you want.”

And in this moment, you know he means it.

“Want you…to fuck me,” you exhale, reaching now for the curls lying against the back of his neck. “Please, Har. Need you to fuck me. Make it better. Make it go away.”

“Is that right?” He slips a finger inside, and you feel your insides twist as you gasp and squirm against the pleasurable touch. “Need something bigger, yeah?”

“Yes…yeah. Please. Please, Daddy.”

He smiles again before slipping his hand from inside your jeans to help tug them down your legs. Yanking almost furiously until they’re settled near your ankles. Allowing him just enough room to slip between.

And once your cunt is on display for him, he stares at it with a certain mesmerized admiration. Allowing himself to enjoy you before he reaches for his own belt and tugs it free.

Once he’s managed to pull his cock out, he reaches again for your hips. Squeezing them once before turning you around.

His arm slips around your middle to keep you secure and you grin lazily as you rest yourself against his chest.

“Gonna hold you, just like this,” he whispers against your cheek, and you feel the tip of his cock trailing against the curve of your ass. “Keep you warm.”

The hand against your ribcage is gentle. Keeping you steady as he attempts to hold you close.

“Deep breath, Tink, okay?” he instructs next, nudging the crown against your dripping hole. Warning you of his next step. “Know it’s a lot, but you always take me so well, don’t you? Gonna take me again?”

You grab onto his arm, nails scraping down his skin as you whine, “Yes. Yes, I’ll take you. Just need it, Har, please—"

“Okay, all right,” he shushes, nudging his cheek against your temple. “Need you to relax, okay? Are you relaxed, baby?”

And you think you are. Mentally, anyway. You’ve never felt so comfortable in someone’s arms. Under their influence and control. Even despite the cold air nipping at your thighs and the outside threat of getting caught, you feel at ease. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as the sounds of people somewhere else in the maze float toward you. Reminding you of where you are. What could happen.

“Tink,” he warns, sliding his cock through your folds in wait. “I need you to relax for me, okay? I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“No?” you manage to retort, and you catch his smile out of your peripheral. “Thought you liked to hurt me.”

 “I do,” he agrees, lips following the shell of your ear. “But not like this. Don’t wanna split you in half.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you breathe, reaching back for his neck. “Maybe I need it, Daddy.”

He chuckles almost darkly before pressing his mouth against your heated skin. “I’ll remember that.”

With that, he drops his hand down to your cunt, circling his fingers around your clit until he feels your body unwind. Allowing him just enough room to begin pushing his cock in.

“There you go,” he sighs, both of you groaning when you feel how easily he slips in. “So fucking good. Take me so well, don’t you? Always do, I know. Relax, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The burn is almost overwhelming. Demanding your focus and attention as you feel him stretch you open, forcing your walls to accommodate his size.

“Hey,” you hear him murmur, his palm coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb sweeping across your parted lips. “Are you breathing? Gotta breathe, Tink, come on. You know better—”

“I know,” you gasp, sucking in a greedy gasp for air before you suck in his finger. “I know, Daddy, m’sorry.”

He hums his approval before allowing himself to sit inside your warm mouth. “It’s okay, know it feels good, hm?”

“Mhm,” you agree around the large digit, allowing your tongue to settle him on your tastebuds. “More.”

“More?” he repeats, using his other hand to squeeze your hip. “Want more, greedy girl?”

“Please…”

“Please," he echoes thoughtfully. "Greedy Girl has manners, how precious.”

There’s a slight air of condescension and teasing to his response, and you feel yourself flutter around his length.

His grin grows. “You like that, baby?”

You manage one more weak nod as you press yourself against his body, squirming in his hold while his cock pushes in to the hilt.

“There,” he exhales, groaning some before falling still. Allowing your body to adjust to his size. “You okay?”

“Yes…yes, m’okay. Please move, please…please, Daddy—”

“Okay, all right,” he agrees coarsely, readjusting his stance before returning his arm to your stomach. Just beneath your chest. “Need you to be good, okay? Just listen to Daddy’s voice and do what I say.”

“I will. I will, I promise.”

“Good.” He begins to pull back. Dragging his cock through your quivering hole as you moan his name.

But such a loud noise isn’t quite what he had in mind, his other palm reaching up to smack across your mouth to silence you.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, pausing the rhythm of his hips until he’s sure you’ll obey. “None of that. M’keeping you for myself, remember? Can’t let them know.”

You make an incoherent noise against his hand before writhing back against his cock. Needing more friction and movement that he refuses to give you.

“Unless that’s what you want, Greedy Girl,” he whispers into your neck. “Want them to see what I do to you. The way I make you fall apart…the way you beg for my cock. Even when you hate me.”

The idea sends a shiver down your spine as you groan his name and claw at his wrist.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs between sharp thrusts. “S’it why you keep this pretty pussy so nice and tight for me? Cause you want them to know that it’s only me? That everything…everything…you do is because of me?”

Your eyes roll back, either from annoyance or pleasure. But it’s blissful, this feeling. This hard fuck, this angry connection. 

And yet, this infuriating man is oddly tender with you. Holding you close and helping you find your release, despite the way he goads you.

“Do you, Tink?” he asks again. “Do you want Lucas to see? Want them all to fucking see what you do to me?”

His nails are scraping down your ribcage, pulling you taut against his chest as he drives his cock as deep as it’ll go. Hips meeting your ass as he releases your mouth to hold onto you again, keeping you still.

“Tell me,” he says between deep breaths. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you only cum for me—”

“Har—”

“My greedy little whore. My dirty fucking princess.” His tone is angry. Dissolving into something feral as he begins to pound into you with a harder force. Nearly knocking the wind from your lungs. “Not his. Mine. Always mine—”

“Yours,” you repeat between soft whines. “Yours, Harry, you know that—”

“Yeah?” He holds you tighter, allowing you no room to squirm as he nears his release. His pace becomes faster and sloppier the closer he gets. Allowing your warmth to soak him, draw him in. Using you as nothing more than a toy. A means to his end. “Then prove it.”

Even without much extra stimulation, you can feel yourself getting closer to the brink. Harry has always had this innate ability to get you there without much more than a few pumps of his cock. Perhaps it’s his size or his technique. The way he knows exactly where to thrust in order to hit the right spot and make you see stars. 

And maybe there’s a part of you – albeit small – that enjoys the idea of being good for him. Of coming on his cock (or his tongue or his fingers) just so he can watch. So he can feel what he does to you.

Maybe…you just want to be good for him. At least in moments like this. To know that you’ve earned his approval, his praise. That such a brilliant man has devoted his time and attention and body just to you. 

That you’re worthy of his time.

Worthy of him.

It’s almost degrading to think about and yet…it makes you clench. Pussy clamping down on his beautifully thick cock until he groans and nuzzles his nose against your neck.  

“Shit,” he hisses, rhythm stuttering as a shot of pleasure rolls through him. “Tink, if you’re gonna do that, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good,” you answer instantaneously. “Want you to. Need you to, Daddy, please—”

“No,” he huffs, and he stills for only a moment as if attempting to refrain from falling apart. “No, need you to cum first. Daddy needs to feel you cum first, okay? Come on, baby, gotta give it to me—”

You mewl helplessly, drowning out the rest of his instruction. You’re close, and you know it won’t be much longer until it overwhelms you.

And there’s some part of you that feels…disappointed. Saddened by the idea of things going back to how they normally are. That he’ll take himself from you – take his cock from you – and return to the maddening man you can hardly tolerate.

Maybe subconsciously, you try to hold off. Keep your orgasm at bay so you can keep him just a little longer. So you can appreciate the caring man behind you and the way he’s so desperate to put you first.

He’s quite wonderful when he’s not being an ass.

“Tink,” he grunts, hand moving up toward your jaw. You feel his palm press to your throat, and you swallow thickly against his skin. “Baby, I want you to cum. Wanna feel you. What do you need? Hm? Wanna play with your pretty button for me?”

You nod pitifully and allow your own fingers to move down toward your cunt. It’s wet and achy and swollen so much it almost hurts to touch. But you release a strained breath, nevertheless, appreciating the sting of overstimulation as you writhe in his hold.

You can feel your body beginning to overheat the closer you get. Helping warm you up from the October chill still biting at your skin. And the sounds of your friends aren’t far behind. Perhaps looking for you, waiting for you both to exit the maze and continue on with your evening.

But you don’t give a damn about anybody else right now. Just him.

Something you never thought you’d say.

“Getting closer, yeah?” he hums against your ear, fingers tightening around your neck. “I know. Fucking shaking, baby, you’re okay. I got you. Just let it happen, let go.”

There’s something about his voice. About the feel of his glasses against your temple. About the way he makes you feel safe and secure. The way he effortlessly brings you to the edge and promises to catch you when you fall.

You know he hates you. And yet you also know that despite this loathing you share, you’re still his priority. That he’ll put your pleasure first, no matter what. That he wants to be good.

“Har,” you whimper through a high-pitched whine. “Shit, please—”

“You close? Gonna give it to me? Make Daddy happy?”

The reminder of the nickname makes you moan, a bit softer than before, but still rather lewd. And Harry tsks from behind you, once again sliding his palm up to your mouth.

“Dirty fucking princess,” he grits before he’s suddenly slamming himself into you. “Can’t ever do what she’s told, hm? Just loves to disobey me. Wants to get caught. Wants to be my greedy little girl—”

My greedy little girl.

That’s what does it for you. His possession, his mark, his claim. Reducing you to nothing more than this thing he uses for his pleasure. An object to be had.

In any other moment, you’d chastise him for it.

Right now, it’s everything you need to hear.

You cum on his cock without much choice. Pleasure unfurling like the petals of a flower in spring. For a moment, the overpowering sensation is all you can comprehend. Just ecstasy, a weightless euphoria. Lifting you up and dropping you back down.

He curses when he feels it, offering you quick murmurs of praise before he’s grabbing onto your hips with both hands and yanking you back. Using this leverage to drive his cock in in sharp thrusts before he’s following. Releasing himself into you with a groan as you gasp and grab onto one of the beams for support.

Thirty seconds pass of heavy breathing and lingering whimpers before you both fall quiet, chests heaving and legs still shaking.

He doesn’t pull out for at least a moment or two, merely holding onto your waist as he works to gather himself together.

“Shit,” he finally whispers, and you feel the subtle stroking of his thumb against your tender skin. Right over the bruises you’re sure to find tomorrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly, nodding once. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah? Good. You needed it.”

You feel your lips pull back into a smile. “Oh, did I?”

“You really did.”

“Right. Even though you’re the one that fucks me every time you see me.”

You hear him scoff as he finally – and slowly – pulls out. Allowing your muscles to unwind as you release a deep breath. “I’m doing you a favor,” is his reply. And it’s laced with a condescension and haughtiness that you know all too well.

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

“Yes.” He tucks himself back into his briefs before crouching down to reach for your jeans. Pulling them back up your legs with a strange amount of care, despite his snarky attitude. “I do a lot of favors for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You turn around while he steps back and readjusts his glasses. “Was getting us lost one of those favors?”

A strange, almost sadistic kind of grin begins to stretch across his face. “Maybe.”

You hesitate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs once before backing out of the lookout as you rezip your jeans. “It means…maybe I knew this was the wrong way.”

“…I’m sorry?”

His hands shove into his pockets while his sly smile seems to mirror his satisfaction. “I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to do some…exploring.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you nearly gasp, striding after him so you can swat your hand across his chest. “Are you fucking serious? You got us lost on purpose?”

“We were never lost, Tinkerbell. I knew exactly where we were."

"Yeah? And where are we?"

"Taking a detour."

“I cannot believe you,” you murmur, staring at him rather incredulously. “God, you are so fucking horny, it’s insane.”

“Oh, relax,” he snorts. “I didn’t take you back here to fuck you. I just thought you’d wanna see the top of the maze.”

“And you couldn’t have just asked?”

“Would you have agreed?”

You consider this. “…all right, maybe not. But you’re still a fucking ass.”

“Yeah,” he agrees coyly. “I know.”

You keep your stern glare, but your grin is playful. “Whatever. Does this mean you know the way out?”

“I do,” he says. “There’s a shortcut. Cassie and I used to cheat and use it all the time.”

The revelation of her name makes your breath catch. You hadn’t expected him to reveal something so personal, and there’s a part of you that isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

You can tell he hasn’t realized his slip, because he’s still smiling at you like he’s waiting for you to get the joke. To laugh with him.

But there’s something else in his eye – something beautiful and reminiscent. Excited. Like the mere mention of her name has calmed him. Reminded him of a better time. A happier place. 

Reminded him of someone who isn’t you.

“I see,” you manage, choking the words out as you glance toward the dirt beneath your sneakers. Avoiding his eye. “Well…great. Get me the hell out of here, please.”

He studies you for a moment. You can feel his eyes boring into your profile, as though attempting to work out just what changed in your demeanor.

Then, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and says, “Yeah. This way.”

With that, he maneuvers back through the large stocks of corn and leads you through the intricate labyrinth. Weaving his way along the path and bypassing each checkpoint with ease, almost as if he’s done this a hundred times.

You imagine he has.

You reach the exit in only a few minutes, and relief washes over you as you catch sight of your car in the distance. Your means of escape and your excuse to leave him behind. 

“Thank God,” you mumble as you both slip out from the corn and back into the light. “That was…excruciating.”

“Oh, was it?” he teases. “Really? All of it?”

“Yes, all of it,” you snort, but you feel rather amused as you glance over his expression. “Let’s never get stuck in a corn maze together again, agreed?”

“Agreed,” he replies, but there’s a certain playful glimmer in his eye. “We can just fuck the old-fashioned way. In your car.”

“Gee, great.”

You both fall silent as your quippy remarks die down. Looking at each other like you’re waiting for someone to break the spell. To return you both to your anger and your rivalry. To poke fun at the few moments of intimacy and understanding you shared and release you from this strange yearning.

You decide to be the first, clearing your throat as quietly as you can while reaching for the collar of the hoodie to slip it off. “Uh, well…thanks again. For letting me borrow this.”

He blinks, momentarily puzzled – or perhaps…disappointed? – as he watches you pull it from your body. “Yeah. No problem. Just bring a fucking coat next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, remember?” you retort, tossing it over. 

He catches it with one hand, and smiles. “Right. And thank God for that.”

“Exactly.”

Another lull, the two of you continuing to stand in the dimly lit parking lot as you wait for him to say goodbye.

And suddenly, you realize…you don’t want to go. You don’t want to say goodbye. That you feel…safer when he’s around. More relaxed and at ease. Even when you’re griping with him or resisting the urge to put his head through a wall, he’s still…comforting. A forceful and reassuring presence that you otherwise feel lost without. 

Because you remember who he was before…Cassie. You remember his kindness and his ability to make you laugh.

And you know that he’s still that person. He’s still trying to take care of the people he feels closest to, even when he doesn’t mean to. Even when he doesn’t realize.

You know why he pushed you away. You know why he’s created such a vast, unyielding distance. And you can’t exactly blame him.

But the version of him that automatically thinks to care for you…that’s the version you’re drawn to. That’s the version you don’t want to say goodbye to.

“What?” he asks, grinning again as his head cocks. Seeming to notice the shift in your expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hesitate, lashes fluttering as you work out a response. Wondering just how much you can share…and how much of it is real. “Nothing, I…this was just…”

He waits, brow raised. 

Your lips clamp. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about all the fucking work I have to do when I go in tomorrow, thanks to you.”

And you can see he’s unconvinced, eyes flicking between yours as if looking for the real answer. But he waits a beat before his smile fades and he asks, “Why did you really come tonight?”

A bit caught off-guard by the question, you blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could have partnered with anyone else. If you really wanted,” he explains, slowly stepping closer. Forcing a hitch in your throat. “Could have left me behind. Gone ahead. But you didn’t. Why?”

And there it is. That hint – that almost undetectable trace – of vulnerability behind the usual arrogance. He’s giving you the chance, offering you an opportunity for truth.

And maybe you want to take it. Maybe you want to confess and unburden yourself of this weight that’s settled on your shoulders. 

The truth teases the tip of your tongue, laden with consequences.

But just before you can offer him the real answer, there’s a distant laugh from one of the groups back in the maze. Interrupting the moment and stealing what little courage you had left.

Your lashes flutter quickly as if shaking yourself from a daze, and you step back. Forcing distance between your bodies in an attempt to find clarity. 

Harry watches you go, expression hard and etched with frustration, while you swallow thickly and spin on your heel. 

He doesn’t call after you as you race to your car. Doesn’t insist on an answer or try to make you stay.

He merely stands there beneath the warm hue of the streetlamp, allowing you to run away, and disappear into your car before fleeing the scene.

Leaving him behind. 

Previous Part:

~ Always*

~ 404 Masterlist

~ Freaky Fun Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus @kirstiea05 @lovrave @princessprongs @nuggetdean @scndsofsummer @theofficialprongs

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: fwb!mingyu, pussydrunk!mingyu, horny!mingyu (he's just horny as shit guys), smut, f reader, penetrative sex, based off the picture above ofc, etc.

wc: 985

masterlist

you had known mingyu for a few months now. you'd originally met at some frat party that your friend vernon had invited you to. you attended with no specific purpose in mind. you thought maybe you'd mingle a bit, have some drinks with some friends, and then dip. however, your plans were promptly ruined by the six-foot tall boy with the pretty smile who kept eyeing you all night as he leaned against the wall, nursing a drink while making eyes at you.

that was the first night you ended up in mingyu's bed. at a first glance you imagined he'd be good at sex. you'd been right. somewhat. he was insane. not only did he have an insane libido, but he was insatiable for you. he managed to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. what surprised you most, however, was how he never ran out of orgasms to give you in return. you'd heard of guys with short refractory periods, but mingyu was an anomaly. that night, he had kept you up for hours, causing you to arrive late to next morning's lecture (not that you were complaining).

the second time you met mingyu was quickly after, as you'd bumped into him at a football game two days after. it was almost comical. the way in which you met eyes and knew exactly what the other was thinking. without needing to exchange any words, you ended up back at mingyu's dorm, with your legs thrown over his shoulders as he viciously fucked you into the bed, muttering words such as "you're all mine. pussy's all for me, isn't it baby?", or "pretty fuckin' thing with an even prettier pussy, fuck. n so fuckin' soft too," or your favorite, "shit. best pussy ive ever had. gunna keep it for myself. that okay, baby? gunna give it to me, arent you, pretty?"

the man not only knew how to fuck, but he knew how to make you swoon. you needed no convincing to keep ending up in mingyu's bed day after day. unfortunately for the both of you, you were nothing more than a measly college student; a slave to the deadlines your professors imposed on you. even if you wanted to spend every minute of every living moment in mingyu's bed, you had common sense. which meant you had to prioritize your education.

you and mingyu had fucked consistently for about a month. that is, until midterm season arrived. like any reasonable person, this was time for you to hibernate in your room and cram, all while ignoring any outside distractions. your family, friends, any medical emergencies, and even mingyu's dick would have to wait for this stressful time in your life to end.

you assumed that this wouldve been the case for mingyu too, knowing he was in some of the same courses as you. which is why his most recent message threw you off guard, making you laugh at the absurdity.

from: mingu 🤤:

i'm legit gonna kill myself if we dont fuck again

you'd only been depraving mingyu of sex for a little over a week. was he that insatiable? okay, you had to admit, that was a huge ego boost (and a bit of a turn on). you were now faced with two choices. be a responsible adult and put your education first, or get your hole fucked and stuffed by the big hunk who was threatening lethal action against himself if he didnt feel your warmth around him as soon as humanly possible.

you didnt have to be asked twice.

giggling to yourself, you picked up your phone and angled it upwards, pulling down your shirt enough to display your bare tits and captured a quick picture, typing him a quick message to rile him up a little more.

from you:

want this ? ;)

*picture attachment*

after hitting send, you sat back down for a bit, uselessly putting your phone down as you heard a chime in response almost immediately.

from mingu 🤤:

fuck you

i'll be there in ten

giddy, you readied yourself a bit for his arrival, knowing his dorm rooms were not too far away from yours.

only eight minutes later and you were answering the door to a very frustrated mingyu, barging into your room and immediately pushing you up against the door, taking advantage of your gasp to shove his tongue in your mouth.

"you think you're funny, dont you, baby?", he rasped, "gonna fuck the funny out of you."

he quickly undressed you and carried you over to your couch, taking his own clothes off in the process. he bent you over and put you on your hands and knees, slapping your ass once before entering you without warning.

"fuck," he breathed out in relief, "how could you keep this pretty pussy away from me for so long, baby? wanted me to chase after you? i'll fucking do it," he fucked you harder with every word he uttered.

"g-gyu."

"i'll fuckin' move in to your dorm if that means i can have this pretty fuckin' pussy wrapped around me every night, shit," his words were getting to you, causing you to wrap tighter around him.

"g-gunna give it to you every day, pretty. will you let me do that? huh? stuff this pretty pussy every day. so pretty n warm for me ..."

you both reached your completion soon after, spending yourselves out after one round for the first time since knowing each other.

"baby ... never fucking pull that shit again, i swear to god. next time you ghost me like that, i'm breaking down the door, do you understand?", his words were lighthearted in nature, but the concept of mingyu being so pussydrunk he needed to have you day after day excited you beyond belief.

"yes, sir," you purred, preparing yourself for an afternoon of zero studying.

n/a: not proofread <//3

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part Eight

Pairing: Bucky x reader AU

Word count: 3.7k

Warning: Angst....

A/N: first of many fights <3 also your comments make my day 

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You walk into the apartment, the excitement from your date still buzzing faintly inside you—until you spot Bucky sitting on the couch. His eyes immediately flick to yours, his expression unreadable, and just like that, any leftover thrill from the night vanishes, replaced by an ache that settles heavily in your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve been alone with him all week, and for a second, neither of you says anything. Then he stands, clearing his throat. “So… how’d it go?”

His words reignite the frustration you’ve been holding back since last week, since his careless comment at the bar. Instead of brushing past him like you’d planned, you stop, crossing your arms and staring at him, letting your words come out sharper than you intended.

“Good. It was a great date, actually,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Dean was a total gentleman, and wouldn’t you know it—I handled a real date just fine.”

A flicker of regret crosses his face, but he quickly looks away, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “That’s… that’s not how I meant it. I don’t know why I said that, and you know I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room, as you shrugged off your coat, placing your keys and phone in the dish. “Really, Bucky? Because lately, that seems like the only thing you’ve been doing—hurting me.”

His gaze snaps back to you, his expression hardening. “You really want to do this? Just… hash everything out right now?”

You throw your arms up, the frustration boiling over. “Why the hell not? It’s not like things have been getting any better with us pretending everything’s fine!”

He steps closer, his jaw tight. “Fine. Let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about that night, then.” He pauses, his voice dropping as his eyes bore into yours. “Why did you leave?”

You freeze, caught off guard. “What… what do you mean?”

He takes another step toward you, anger and hurt evident in his face. “You know exactly what I mean. After that night at the party, after we… after we slept together. Why did you leave without a word? I woke up, and you were just gone.”

Your pulse quickens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess inside you. “Are you kidding me, Bucky? Did you even want me to stay?”

He lets out a hollow laugh, the sound filled with disbelief. “What are you talking about? Of course I did! You’re the one who walked out, not me!”

The anger rises, mixing with all the hurt and confusion you’ve buried over the years. “I left because… because I panicked, alright? You had this reputation, Bucky, and everyone knew it. I thought… I thought you’d wake up, regret it, and hate me for being just another one of your mistakes.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of anger and disbelief flashing across his face. “Do you really think that little of me? You think I’d just… forget about you? You’re my best friend, for god’s sake. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and you thought I’d throw that away for just sex?”

“Oh, so it was just sex, huh?” you snap, bitterness dripping from every word.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” he shouts, frustration evident as he rakes a hand through his hair, his voice breaking slightly. “God, you have to know it was more than that!”

You cross your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold everything in. “I don’t know what I thought, Bucky. But I knew I couldn’t stand being something you regretted. I wasn’t going to sit there and wait for you to decide whether it was worth anything to you.”

He stares at you, hurt and frustration radiating from him. “All I’ve ever done is care about you. Everything people said about me, all those rumors—they were just that. Rumors. I thought you of all people would know that.”

You look away, fighting the sting of tears in your eyes, but he steps closer, his voice rising. “Do you know how much it killed me? You left me there like it meant nothing.”

“Maybe it didn’t mean as much as you think it did!” you shout back, anger overtaking the sadness. “Maybe that night wasn’t some big, life-changing moment for either of us. Maybe it was just a mistake!”

His face crumples slightly, like you’ve slapped him, and his voice drops, filled with hurt. “Is that really what you think?”

You hesitate, the words burning in your throat, but you nod, unable to back down. “I… I don’t know, Bucky. All I know is that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting around, trying to read between the lines, hoping you’ll finally decide what you want.”

He steps back, his face hardening, his voice cold. “Then maybe you should go. If you’re so tired of being here, if I’m such a disappointment to you… maybe it’s better for both of us if you’re not here.”

Your heart clenches painfully, but you force yourself to nod, swallowing back the tears. “Fine. If that’s what you want, then I’ll go.”

“Go, then!” he yells, his eyes flashing, and you can see the unshed tears there, barely contained. “Get out. Do whatever you want—I don’t care anymore. Just… leave.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. Then, without another word, you turn on your heel, your hands shaking. You feel the tears spilling over as you open the door, but you don’t let yourself look back, slamming it behind you, the sound echoing painfully through the empty apartment.

The chill of the night air bites into your skin as you walk through the dark streets, the city lights casting a glow around you, making the world feel almost surreal. You’re shivering, partly from the cold and partly from the adrenaline that’s kept you moving since you stormed out of the apartment, leaving behind your coat, your phone—everything. You feel like you’re walking through a dream, or maybe a nightmare, your heels clicking against the pavement in the silence.

It’s only after you’ve been walking for a while, the shock wearing off, that you realize the closest place you can go is Steve and Sam’s. You pick up your pace, arms wrapped around yourself, mascara streaking down your cheeks as the wind stings your face. It’s late, nearly ten o’clock on a Saturday night, and as you walk you can’t help but worry. What if they’re not home? What if you just end up standing outside in the cold, with nowhere to go?

You finally reach their apartment building and practically rush up to their door, knocking, then pressing your ear to the door, hoping you hear movement inside. The minutes feel like hours, and you’re starting to feel that familiar rise of panic, the one that tightens your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Just as you’re about to give up, you hear footsteps on the other side.

The door unlocks, and then it opens, revealing Steve.His face shifts from confusion to shock as he takes you in. “What the hell happened?” he asks, voice thick with concern as he quickly pulls you inside, shutting the door behind you. “Are you okay?”

The second you’re inside, the warmth of the apartment breaks down whatever wall you were holding up. You start crying, and without a word, Steve wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob against his chest.

After a moment, he gently guides you to sit on the couch, his hand rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. But as you pull away, wiping at your smudged makeup, you see the worry in his eyes shift to something sharper, angrier.

“Wait,” he says, frowning as he looks you over again. “Where’s your coat? And your phone? You didn’t just walk all the way here without anything, did you?”

You sniffle, still catching your breath, and nod, the hurt fresh all over again. “I left everything at the apartment,” you manage, voice shaky. “I just… I couldn’t stay there, Steve. Bucky told me to get out. He told me to leave.”

Steve’s face falls in shock, his mouth opening slightly as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “He… he told you to get out?” he repeats, trying to process it. “And then just let you walk out? At this hour? Without your things?”

You nod, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cover your face. “I don’t think he… he was just so mad, Steve. I was too. He didn’t care. He just… told me to go.”

Steve lets out a sharp exhale, struggling to contain his anger. “That’s no excuse. I don’t care how mad he was, he should’ve never let you leave like that. He should’ve checked on you, at the very least. Damn it…” He reaches out, squeezing your shoulder with a mix of anger and worry. “You should have called me. I’d have come to get you in a second.”

You offer a small, broken smile through your tears, still trembling. “I know… I just… wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He shakes his head, his hand still on your shoulder, his gaze intense and filled with concern. “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice softens, his anger giving way to a fierce protectiveness. “I just can’t believe he let you walk out alone. It kills me that you felt like you had to do this.”

He squeezes your shoulder, his voice soft. “Do you want to talk about it, or just… sit for a while?”

You let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. “I don’t even know what to say. Everything just… came out. All these things we’ve been avoiding saying, and… I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d hurt this much.”

Steve nods, a sad, sympathetic look crossing his face. “Sometimes… those things we avoid saying are the things that hurt the most. Especially when it’s someone we care about.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and he reaches up, brushing it away gently. His eyes are soft, filled with an empathy that makes you feel a little less alone. “Thank you, Steve,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

You lean into him, letting yourself sink into his warmth, and he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around you again. The adrenaline finally ebbs, exhaustion taking its place as you relax in his embrace, feeling safe for the first time since you left.

You close your eyes, and before long, you start to feel them grow heavy, your breaths slowing as you begin to drift off on Steve’s shoulder.

A few minutes later, Steve’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He carefully shifts, trying not to disturb you, and pulls it out to see a message from Natasha: Hey, have you heard from her? She hasn’t updated me on the date, isn’t answering her phone, and I’m getting worried.

He sighs, glancing at you before typing back, She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or her coat. She and Bucky got into it, pretty bad, ive never seen her like this.

Natasha’s response is almost instant: Are you kidding me? followed by a string of angry emojis.

Steve takes a deep breath, looking down at you as he types out another message, this time to Bucky, his fingers pressing the keys harder than usual: She’s here. Alone. No thanks to you! Without her things. And you let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

He sends the message and then texts Sam, who’s still out with coworkers, letting him know to be quiet when he comes home because you’re sleeping on the couch. A moment later, Sam replies with a string of question marks.

Steve glances down at you, tucked against him, your breathing even and steady now, and sighs before typing a final message to Sam: I’ll explain everything later.

Steve sits on the couch, holding you gently as you fall asleep against him, your breathing soft and steady now, a world away from the state you were in when you first showed up at the door. He glances down at you, feeling a pang in his chest as he takes in the remnants of your makeup, smudged from the tears you cried on his shoulder, and he’s struck by just how much he hates seeing you like this—hurting, broken down, all because of Bucky.

Yet, selfishly, there’s a part of him—deep down, hidden from everyone, including himself most days—that’s grateful you came to him tonight. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s just his heart betraying him again, but he can’t help it. He’s loved you since junior high, since you were both just kids fumbling through life, figuring out what friendship meant. And over the years, that love has only deepened, becoming something he never talks about, never even lets slip. He’s had to sit on the sidelines and watch as you poured your heart into Bucky, hoping one day he’d finally open his eyes and see you the way Steve does.

You deserve everything in the world, Steve thinks. Someone who’ll give you the love you’ve always deserved, who wouldn’t leave you standing alone in the middle of a dark city street, heartbroken and afraid. But instead, you’re stuck in love with someone who’s too scared to do anything about it, and Steve… he’s just the friend you come to when it all falls apart.

A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away quickly, forcing a silent, bitter laugh at himself. You’re his Bucky, he realizes painfully, and he’s you—watching, waiting, knowing you’ll never see him the way he sees you. It’s a cruel irony, and he hates himself for even thinking it.

Just then, the door creaks open, and Sam steps inside, blinking in surprise as he takes in the sight of you curled up against Steve, your tear-streaked face softened in sleep. He gives Steve a puzzled look, eyebrows raised, and Steve just raises a finger to his lips, shushing him. Carefully, he shifts out from under you, gently laying your head on the couch cushion and covering you with the throw blanket. He watches you for a moment before standing up and walking over to Sam, who’s now leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.

“What happened?” Sam asks, his voice low as he eyes Steve with concern.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “She showed up about an hour ago, just… wrecked. Crying, shivering at the door. She didn’t have her phone, her keys, or even a coat.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “What? Why didn’t she have her stuff?”

Steve’s jaw tightens as he answers, anger simmering in his voice. “Because Bucky told her to leave. They had a huge fight, and he just let her walk out like that. She came here on foot, alone, and he didn’t stop her. Didn’t even check if she had what she needed.”

Sam lets out a long breath, running his hands down his face in frustration. “Are you kidding me? That guy is such an idiot sometimes.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Steve mutters, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I thought he was supposed to tell her how he felt. I thought he was ending things with Kate.”

Sam shakes his head, exasperated. “I know. I thought that was the plan too. Just last week, he said he was done with the excuses, that he was going to finally tell her. I don’t know what the hell’s holding him back, but tonight… she had her first date in years, Steve. She was supposed to have a good night, for once, and instead, she’s here, like this.”

Steve’s gaze shifts back to you, his heart aching as he watches you sleep. “I don’t get it. If he cares about her like he says he does, why does he keep doing this to her? Why won’t he just be honest?”

Sam sighs, shaking his head as he leans against the counter. “I don’t know, man. But she was so happy earlier. Right before her date, and she just… she was glowing. I hadn’t seen her like that in a long time.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “And now… now she’s back to this, all because of him.”

Sam lets out a deep breath, crossing his arms. “Maybe this is a turning point, though. Maybe some good can come from this mess.”

Steve frowns, glancing back at him. “How could this possibly be a good thing?”

Sam gestures toward you, curled up on the couch. “Maybe some space between them will be good for both of them. She can finally see that she deserves better than this back-and-forth, and he can realize what he’s throwing away. Maybe it’s what they both need.”

Steve sighs, looking down, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… maybe.” But as he stares at you, asleep on the couch, he can’t shake the quiet ache in his chest, wondering if you’ll ever see that someone’s been there for you all along.

---

The next morning, Steve steps out of his room to find Sam already up, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. Sam glances toward the couch, noticing you still curled up, fast asleep, wrapped in a throw blanket.

“She’s still out,” Sam says quietly, nodding in your direction.

Steve looks over at you and nods. “Yeah, she must've been exhausted,” he says softly.

Sam takes a sip of his coffee, watching Steve for a moment before asking, “You gonna skip your run today?”

Steve glances back at him, then shakes his head. “I can miss a day,” he replies with a shrug, moving into the kitchen and grabbing things from the fridge to start breakfast.

Sam watches him, setting his mug down on the counter. “Look, man… this can’t be good for you either.”

Steve pauses, glancing at Sam. “What do you mean?”

Sam gives him a pointed look. “Come on, you know what I mean. You, being in love with her all these years.” He lowers his voice slightly, glancing over at you again. “Just… I don’t want to see any more of my best friends getting hurt, alright?”

Steve sighs, his shoulders tensing slightly. “Keep it down, Sam. She’s literally right there.”

Sam sighs too, his tone gentler now. “I’m just saying, Steve, you can still be a good guy and a good friend… while protecting your own heart. I don’t want you to keep waiting around and getting hurt.”

Steve nods slowly, resuming his work in the kitchen. “I know what I’m doing, Sam. Trust me. It’s been years of this. I’ll be fine.”

Sam gives him a skeptical look but just shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever you say, man.” He reaches for a mixing bowl, getting ready to make pancakes. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, the smell of pancakes and coffee filling the kitchen.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees you beginning to stir on the couch. You stretch, blinking as you slowly sit up, momentarily disoriented, and your eyes go wide as you remember where you are.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Sam says with a grin, turning around to look at you.

“Oh God…” you murmur, running a hand over your face, slightly embarrassed. Everything from last night rushes back in a blur.

“You okay?” Steve asks, concern in his voice as he sets down the spatula.

“Yeah, just a bit of a headache,” you mumble, wincing slightly.

Without a word, Steve gets up and heads to the bathroom, returning with some Tylenol and a glass of water. You give him a grateful smile as you take them.

Sam grins, shooting you a playful look. “Well, you look like shit.”

“Sam!” Steve yells, half-scolding him, but you just laugh, shaking your head.

“Thanks,” you chuckle, swallowing the Tylenol. “I feel like it, too.”

Steve sits beside you for a moment, watching as you sip the water. Sam looks at you thoughtfully, then says, “You should go take a shower. I bet it’ll help clear your head.”

You nod, biting your lip. “I would… but I don’t exactly have anything to wear.”

Steve immediately jumps up, nodding toward his room. “I’m sure I can find some clothes that’ll work for you. Hold on.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking at him with a hint of embarrassment.

“Of course,” he says, smiling warmly. “Anything for you.”

He heads down the hall, and you follow, feeling a little lighter with each step. Once in his room, he digs through his dresser and hands you a pair of sweatpants, a soft T-shirt, and a towel. “Use whatever you need in the bathroom,” he says gently, his gaze warm and steady.

As he’s about to turn and leave the room, you stop him. “Stevie?”

He pauses, turning back. “Yeah?”

You give him a small, heartfelt smile. “Thank you. For everything. For always being such a great friend to me.”

Steve’s heart sinks slightly at the word “friend,” the weight of all the things he’s never said pressing down on him. But he musters a smile, nodding. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

You give him one last grateful look before heading to the bathroom. Once inside, you close the door and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath as your emotions resurface.

You turn on the shower, feeling the steam rise as you slip out of yesterday’s clothes. The hot water pours over you, soothing your tense muscles as you stand there, letting everything you’ve been holding in pour out.

Your thoughts drift to Bucky, to the fight, to everything that was said, and the words echo painfully in your mind. You wonder if he felt any regret after you left, if he realized how much his words hurt. But then you think about how he’d looked at you, the anger and frustration in his eyes, and your heart twists painfully. It’s a cycle, you realize—a cycle of loving someone who can’t seem to decide if he wants to hold onto you or push you away.

As the water washes over you, you close your eyes, trying to let go of the ache in your chest, but it lingers, a constant reminder of the choice you don’t know how to make.

[mascdestr0yer]

Number One (2)

Hopkins!Paige x Fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, a bit cheesy, a girl and basketball player (zombies ref)

Trope: Slow burn

Synopsis: Paige’s birthday so happens to be in your favorite time of the year, super..

“hey, stop it, i thought we worked on that?”

previous | Next

FALL,

It was your favorite season, you enjoyed the songs the trees sang at night, you loved the breeze they bring when they danced, and the colors of the trees brought a warm coziness into your heart.

You chose to walk to school today, to take your mind off of things but, your mind kept getting clouded with images of a faux blonde.

You felt a heavy arm swing around your shoulder, almost making you drop your coffee. you removed the girl’s arm.

“why are you here,” you huffed as you glanced up at the girl, your tone coming off more whiny as you intended to.

“walking to school, duh.”She rolled her eyes, fiddling with one of the gajillion trinkets on your key chain on your tote bag.

you smacked her hand away,“don’t you have a car?”

“yeah but, i gotta keep in shape, you know for the season,” She smirks, flexing her bicep. “-And i know you’ve been walking to school lately, i wanted to see you.”

You couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered when she said she wanted to you but, you did not want to boost the girls ego any more. “um, we see each other, every day. you should put a sweater on, you don’t wanna catch a cold.”

“why, you’ll miss me?” she wiggled her eyebrows and you physically cringed.

“no, we sit next to each other, i can’t afford to get sick on bed rest because of you.” taking a sip of your pumpkin spice latte, dare you say ‘tis the season’, she rolled her eyes with a small huff.

“you don’t have to be a know it all, all the time, miss granger.” Her focus stayed straight ahead, her eyes wandering to your face every now and then. you almost laughed at the reference, you nudged her a bit.

“i didn’t take you for a harry potter type of girl,” now you began looking straight ahead, as you guys neared school.

“Why not? They had third grade me geeking,” you could tell she had a smile on face by her tone of voice.

“okay smartypants,” you giggled, walking through the gate, she shoved you slightly.

“i know you’re not talking, i’ll see you later, a’ight?” she held her hand out and you looked at her like she was crazy. “okay, be difficult.” she said as she hugged you and then she walked away.

“bye..” you muttered out, your heart was pounding, and you began walking to your first period.

Time flew by quickly but, you weren’t having fun. You dreaded walking into third period, the hug felt different, it didn’t feel like those fake hugs at family gatherings. Well, you’ve never hugged Paige before, so she could hug everyone like that.

You walked into your calculus class, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall— this time, not because of Paige. Ms.Carson acts as if she’s cold blooded vampire, keeping it so cold in her classroom.

You walked to your seat, sitting your bag down, good, paige wasn’t there yet. actually, you almost always beat her to class, so it’s both a shocker, it just feels good this time because you did not want to see her.

It felt like if you see her, you would word vomit all your feelings, which is weird because you don’t know how you feel.

You didn’t like her, you were just a bit shocked she hugged you? No, now you were being delirious, it’s not like it was a bad thing that you liked her—wrong. it was horrible, so you thought, it was unhealthy to have a crush on someone you knew you would never have, right?

It was like having an addiction to something you couldn’t afford, who their right mind is addicted to weed but, can’t afford a gram, idiots and beggars, you want to be neither.

You were pulled out of you thoughts, when a certain someone handed you a word search worksheet as she sat down.

“what do i need this for?” You examine the page, already finding a few words. you smile as you read one, gay, that had to have been on purpose. of course it wasn’t in the word bank though, that would be absolutely ridiculous.

“it’s a free day, remember? there were coloring sheets but, you seem like you do word search in your free time.” She chuckled at her own joke or whatever you call it. it seemed like she was trying to sneak diss.

“super funny,” you responded sarcastically, the safest option. you pulled out your pencil case of of your tote bag, setting it on the desk. highschool is so hard they said, your teachers aren’t as lenient they say, lies. But hey, you had no problem with word search.

you take a random highlighter out of your pencil case, doing the word search no problem. until you see paige peering over your shoulder, you turn your paper so she couldn’t see. “what are you doing?”

“it’s not a competition, i just wanna see what you have.” she bites back a smile, still trying to get a peek.

“if it’s not a competition then why are you trying to see my answers?” you crossed your arms and she smacked her lips.

“okay, you caught me, listen, i need to ask you something,” she set her pencil down, now you were nervous. you subconsciously began biting your nails. she gently pulled your hand away from your mouth. “hey, stop it, i thought we worked on that?” you huffed when she said that, you guys did work on it, mainly because you keep your bails painted and it’s unhealthy to eat nail polish. “Look, my birthday (Oct, 20th) is coming up, so i’m throwing a halloween costume party, you should come.”

is she messing with you? no seriously, it’s not like you were a nerd on disney channel who never gets invited to things, it’s just shocking coming from her, now you had to get her a gift.

“yeah, sure.”

“No that definitely means, ‘bring me a gift’” you whine to your mom, as you guys walked through victoria's secret, inside the mall. (best store in the mall)

“so what does she like?”

“i don’t knoww,” you whined some more, “now i have time to get a stupid halloween costume,”

“just wear something, cute, ooh!— a cute firefighter, or a jennifer’s body costume, that could be really cute, i bet you would impress miss basketball star.” she wiggles her brows, putting countless things in her bag.

“i’m not trying to impress her,” you huffed for what felt like the one millionth time today. she gave you a look, “okay, maybe a little but, i am not going to her party dressed as a slut, i am not in a movie.”

did you like it ? IM SORRY ITS SHORT !

i need halloween costume ideas now ! and what gift to give paige ?