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thebigbiwolf · 7 months

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Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary.

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp.

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.”

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass?

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?”

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.”

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent.

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest.

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers.

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion.

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself.

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched.

Hot. Why is everything so hot?

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever?

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off.

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf.

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is.

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared.

“What in the hells…?”

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve.

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain.

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear.

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle.

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat.

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’ You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic.

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before.

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat.

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you.

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.”

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence.

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy.

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again.

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.”

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #astarion acunin #posting this was like pulling teeth im gonna disappear for a while #my fics #spittle

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freedomfireflies · 6 months

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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?”

“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

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itoshiexx · 8 months

Text

can i dance with your s/o?

how the blue lock boys react when someone asks to dance with you.

pairings: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, reo mikage x fem!reader (separate) | warnings: jealousy, slight possessiveness, overall fluff, teeny bit suggestive on sae's

notes: hi guys! i wasn't planing on posting anything since i haven't been able to write (studying for the bar and all), but since i reached 300 followers, i thought maybe i could post this lil thing that was in my drafts for a long time lol it's quite different from what i usually do but i hope y'all like it! and tysm for 300!! <3

Itoshi Rin

the lights of the room flickered around the sparkles in your long dress and practically made you glow. the piece of clothing was beautiful — an italian design rin bought for you specially for that night, where you would accompany him to a charity event. there were hundreds of football players like him in the venue, but rin’s sight could only focus on you.

a song was playing softly in the background, and he admired you from afar, sitting in the bar along with some of his teammates while you chatted with their girlfriends, who became your friends pretty quickly. that was just how you were, always easy going and approachable, very unlike him. it was easy to be drawn to you like you were the sun, and rin was more than happy to be in your orbit.

then, the song changed to a slow paced tune, and he saw your beautiful eyes turn to him and sparkle just as much as your dress — if not more. the girls you were chatting with came towards their respective boyfriends, but you remained there, just staring, as if knowing it was a lost cause.

itoshi rin didn’t like to dance.

and while he was distracted by your orbs, someone decided to talk.

“can i dance with your girlfriend?”

the voice sent chills down his spine, and rin turned to the owner with a harsh glare, scrutinizing the image of none other than itoshi sae. they still had a pretty fucked up relationship, even after rin went pro, and he was not happy to hear what he just heard.

“what the fuck did you say?” his tone came out slowly, a veiled threat.

sae didn’t even blink. “i asked to dance with your girlfriend. you are certainly not doing it, and since i didn’t come with anyone, it would be rude to leave her there. haven’t you learned shit, rin?”

a vein nearly popped in his forehead. it was already bad enough to hear the condescending tone in sae’s voice, but implying he could take better care of you than him? no, that wouldn’t do.

“fuck off, you shitty brother. don’t come near her.”

he stormed off to the dance floor, leaving his shitty brother and his knowing smirk behind, immediately going to your figure. he could tell you were confused, but gave you no time to ask, taking your soft hand in his and dragging you to where the other couples were dancing.

both of his hands found home in your waist, just like he always found home in you. your arms laced his neck by pure reflex, considering you were still very much confused with your boyfriend’s attitude.

“what happened?”

rin played dumb. “hm? what do you mean? i’m just dancing with my girlfriend.” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

it really wasn’t. not when you smiled at him like that.

sure, itoshi rin didn’t like to dance. but he loved you, and if dancing would make you happy and keep you away from his shitty brother, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Itoshi Sae

parties were not really sae’s thing. he wasn’t one to socialize with his teammates, and he didn’t feel the need to talk to sponsors or to the media, considering he had a manager to do that. so how he got caught up in one was a true mystery.

sure, playing for the U-20 national team could be a big deal for a lot of people, but not for sae. he hated japan and all its weak players, and the only reason he agreed to play in the first place was to see project Blue Lock firsthand. he definitely did not sign for a party.

though he supposed he could endure it if you were there.

the dance floor was crowded, and a pop hit was blasting through the speakers. you were with sae on the bar just a minute ago, but your already tipsy self exclaimed to love this song and the need to dance it, so that’s what you were doing. and fuck, what a sight you were.

your skimpy dress hugged your body in all the right places, marking the curve of your ass. every time you moved in sync with the beat, swaying your hips, he could feel his breath hitch in his throat, always eager for what was under the fabric. you were breathtaking, and his.

“hey, genius boy!”

sae grunted when his eyes were forced to leave your frame, and he was not pleased to find oliver aiku by his side, portraying his signature toothy grin. his only acknowledgement was a hum, hoping oliver would take a hint and leave him the fuck alone.

“nice night, huh?”

sae sighed. apparently, he can’t take a hint.

“sure,” was all he said, turning his eyes back to you. you were still having fun by dancing like there was no tomorrow, and for a moment, sae wanted to smile from the way you were so carefree. he didn’t, though. but maybe something in his stoic demeanor cracked by looking at you, because the guy next to him spoke up.

“whatcha looking at?” oliver followed his sight before sae could fool him, and he felt anger rising when spotting a glimpse of desire in the heterochromatic eyes of his teammate. “oh, wow. what a babe.”

sae narrowed his eyes with an impossibly harsh glare that could make anyone cower. oliver didn’t. “she’s my girlfriend, so back the fuck off.”

“oh! can i dance with your girlfriend? she seems lonely.” the player smirked, seemingly enjoying to tease sae.

“look,” the older itoshi started, unamused. “you should probably know by now that i don’t tolerate bullshit. especially when it comes to her.”

oliver cocked his brow. sae continued, “so if you wanna have a slight chance to win against Blue Lock and not lose your shitty spot in the U-20 team, don’t fucking test me.”

finally, the player raised his hands in surrender, leaving without saying another word. chugging down the rest of his drink, sae made his way towards you, gluing his body behind yours and securing you close with a hand on your waist.

“hey, baby,” he mumbled in your ear. “wanna get out of here?”

Mikage Reo

being the heir of a billionaire corporation was no easy task. although there were some good parts in it, such as the money to do whatever one pleased, reo mostly dreaded everything related to his position. of course, this included the galas thrown by his family.

these galas were always full of snobby CEO’s and their heirs, trying to secure their spot in the light by arranging a marriage with the Mikage’s son. this part, at least, was solved when reo finally got married to you, and of course enduring hours of these boring parties became a hundred times better with you by his side.

however, he couldn’t say he was exactly pleased with the way all eyes were on you every time you put on some high couture outfit. you were stunning — reo knew that much, and he always boasted to anyone who could hear about it —, but he couldn’t help the spark of possessiveness that always ignited inside his chest whenever someone else stated this fact.

such as the old man talking to him.

“your wife is truly beautiful, mikage. a hidden gem.”

reo could feel his anger rising, jealousy and overprotectiveness becoming one. but he remained calm on the outside, a smiley façade that could effortlessly fool those around him. he couldn’t be rude, considering this geezer was one of the main investors of the mikage corporation.

“indeed, she is,” he answered through his teeth. the man didn’t seem to notice his gleaming eyes that could very much be homicidal.

“how long have you been married again?”

“two years.” he took a sip of the champagne glass in his hands. the liquid went down his throat with a burning sensation that made him momentarily forget about the searing rage in the pit of his stomach.

“oh, to be young again. i wish i could go back and enjoy my youth a little more,” the investor laughed, and reo had to force himself to do the same. his eyes, however, didn’t leave your frame.

you were graciously talking with three women of high society, distributing kind smiles as if they weren’t as precious as the diamonds in your neck, if not more. reo was well aware that none of the people on that gala deserved the goodness of your heart, but you couldn’t help but be sympathetic towards everyone. maybe that was why you were so adored. he knew for certain it was one of the reasons he loved you so much.

“do you mind if i dance one song with her?”

fuck. that man was still there.

“sure,” albeit hesitantly, reo agreed with a forced smile, watching as the investor walked up to you and bowed to ask for a dance. with your usual gentleness, you agreed, taking his hand and going to the middle of the ballroom for a waltz. the mikage could only watch your ethereal form glowing under the candelabrum, eyes softening with the way you were so carefree.

he was glad to have your purity in such a corrupted world.

when the song ended, reo wasted no time in coming to you and taking your hand from the man with a gentlemanly gesture that made you smile. you bid farewell to the investor with a small courtesy, your hand finding your husband’s easily.

“hey, beautiful.”

“hey, handsome,” you whispered, eyes sparkling. “you were totally holding yourself back, weren’t you?”

you both laughed at the way you could read him so easily. though reo didn’t mind.

“hell, yes. i was dying to drag you back to my arms.”

it was where you belonged, anyway.

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itostea · 11 months

Text

hot things bllk boys do as your boyfriend (rin, shidou, nagi & chigiri)

warnings: suggestive in shidou’s part, reader is called pretty girl in shidou’s part

credits to whoever did this idea first! and repost bc i forgot tags oops

rin:

poking the side of his mouth with his tongue whenever you’re showing him a new outfit 🤭🤭

“So what do you think?” You beam with a grin, doing a twirl for him to get a 360 of your clothes. A half-empty bag is disregarded on the side of your shared bed. You can see your reflection on the side mirror and how the fabric fits around your waist. The dress isn’t anything special in design but its intended use is to be frame flattering–the kind of dress that you can wear on any occasion. It’s one of the few things you came to really like from your online purchase and insisted Rin see. In the end, you ended up forcing him to sit through your haul (not that he really minds).

Teal eyes flit from side-to-side and subconsciously, his tongue pokes the side of his cheek. The scrutiny, though it shouldn’t, makes you nervous. You don’t think he’s yet to understand the effect he has on you. Comically, you straighten up when he’s about to speak, making him raise a brow in question. “The dress’s a bit short.”

“But it’s cute right?!” You whine, doing another twirl for emphasis and stepping closer to him.

“It’s not bad.”

“Huh? Are you sure? I thought this was one of the better picks…” You frown, your spirits dying as you were excited to show him the dress.

“It only looks good because you’re wearing it,” he speaks frankly, leaning back to observe you again. Like before, his tongue probes at the inside of his cheek whilst studying you.

You try your best not to react and try not to squirm underneath his gaze and how effortlessly good he looks. “H-Huh? Yeah thanks…”

“Why are you acting shy now?”

“I’m not!”

shidou:

hand placement. that’s it.

“Ryu! Get off of me!” You sigh for nth time, helplessly writhing underneath him. “At least take a shower first before you hug me…”

“You complain too much baby,” he taps the side of your cheek with a boyish smile. “Can’t believe my girl can be so mean. After a day of tiring practice too.”

“Uh huh, I’m pretty sure it was only tiring since you’re always butting heads with Rin.”

He ignores your insult and instead leans up. “When were you on first name basis with that bastard?”. Little strands of hair fall over his forehead and his pink eyes glow above you. From below, you can really see the product of his hard work. His sweat still clings to him but that only draws more attention to his biceps and muscles. You see a smug smile on his face, realizing that you were caught gawking at him.

You avert your eyes with embarrassment written all over your face. “Shut up, I wasn't looking. And besides you literally call him Rinrin.”

He only bursts in laughter. “I didn’t say anything yet! Awh I didn’t think you’d get jealous!”

“Huh?! Aren’t you the jeal–!”

He interrupts you with another pat on the cheek. “Well don’t worry I won’t call him any nicknames reserved for you. Alright sweetheart? Or did you like baby more? Or was it pretty girl?” He teases leaning closely to you, pressing kisses over the crevice of your neck with a coy grin. His grin only widens when you gasp and whisper-yell his name when he bites down softly on your neck. “You wanna join me in the shower?” He breathes against your neck.

You’re not a fool to miss the hidden meaning behind that offer, well aware that the two of you weren’t just going to shower. “I gotta run some errands,” you say half-heartedly, not really convinced that you want that.

“Yeah?” He chuckles close up to your neck before he props himself with his arm bent while the other pushes your lips closer to his. Your body jolts as his hand creeps down to rest on your neck–with his thumb rubbing little circles over the fresh mark he just left. When he disconnects from your lips, a familiar gleam in his eyes draws your attention. “Still don’t wanna join me?”

“My errands–” Another kiss. A gentle squeeze to your neck as he deepens the kiss. You can’t find yourself to be mad when you feel his grin against your lips. In vain, you try to muster up a glare as you purse your lips. “Ryu–!”

Again. Only this time that hand slides down to rest at your hip. The sound of his lips against yours is enough to make you hide your face in embarrassment. And he doesn’t seem like he’d be backing down either.

“Okay fine! I’ll join you in the shower, you demon!”

“Knew you’d come around.” He pulls you up and only returns your glares with a cheeky smile.

You pout as he gathers you in his arms, not finding much in your heart to push him away. “You did all of that on purpose didn’t you.”

“So what if I did babe? It always works doesn’t it?”

nagi:

literally lifts you like it’s nothing 😭😭😭

“We gotta go pretty…C’mon, get out of bed.”

“Don’t wanna…”

Nagi finds the situation to be amusing, seeing as the roles are reversed with you being the lazy one and him trying to pry you awake. He’s not usually one to wake up early but after the release of a new game he’s been wanting to try, he wanted to get his hands on it before it sold out. Again, he tries to gently shake you awake, suddenly gaining a newfound respect for you–seeing as you dealt with similar situations involving him.

“Why can’t you just go alone?” You whine, covering your face with the blanket.

“You said you wanted to try that bakery’s pastries, didn't you?”

“Can’t you just get them for me after you finish buying the game…” You mumble.

Nagi sighs. He could. But he doesn’t want to. Call it selfish but he doesn’t want to go alone. It’d be such a hassle if the line was long and he’d be waiting by himself–without you to talk to. “Nope. Can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You complain for another time, your voice muffled by the blankets. You hear the ruffling of the blanket and how the bed flattens with his knee. Your hands come to cover your eyes from the early sun streaks peeking into the room, scowling once you see your boyfriend holding the blanket in between his hands.

He looks at you blankly. “Don’t make me carry you…”

“Huh? As if. You’re too lazy to do all that work–! Sei?!” Suddenly, you’re a few feet up, face-to-face with a fluff of white hair. Your look of shock brings a small smile to Nagi’s features and he can’t help but pinch your cheek in between his fingers, positioning you so you could fit in his arm.

“I wouldn’t really call this work. This wouldn’t even count as a workout either…” he glances at you, proceeding to carry you to the restroom so you could get ready. “Let’s get you more awake ‘kay?”

You blink. You’re awake now. Completely. Sometimes or maybe too often, you forget the extent of your boyfriend’s strength and that’s always given him an advantage in the element of surprise. Even now, you gape as he continues to handle your body in his arms as if this was just a stroll in the park.

“Hey…I can walk there myself…” You protest weakly, opting to cross your hands rather than resist.

“Nah, don’t want you running away from me. Of course if that happens, I’ll just have to carry you again.”

chigiri:

maintains eye contact with you all the time 😩😩

A hand brushes over your shoulder as you’re doing your skincare, applying the moisturizer carefully over your face with your eyes fixed on the mirror. Glancing at your boyfriend, you tilt your head. “Yes?”

“Don’t apply your moisturizer like that. Do it like this,” he motions with his fingers, only smiling when you only blink. “Here let me do it.”

With a nod, you face him, allowing him to massage the product onto your face. “Feels nice, Hyoma.”

“I bet,” he mumbles quietly, lightly chuckling as you make a noise of displeasure when he rubs a spot too hard. Rosy eyes watch you carefully as his nimble fingers continue to massage in the residue of any leftover product. You feel yourself getting a bit bashful underneath his gaze, preferring to just avert your eyes to the side while he continues to apply the cream on you. “Not gonna look at me?” He teases, collectively deciding to just finish your skincare routine for you.

His fingers reach over to grab onto your lip balm, unclasping the container and gathering a reasonable amount on his finger. With his thumb and pointer finger, he holds onto your chin and smooths the substance over your lips. You try not to tense from his hold, still stubborn in ignoring his gaze. “I am looking at you.”

“Right,” he laughs. “Anddddd there. Done.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally peeping a look to gaze at your boyfriend. He’s still smiling, only this time his eyes crinkle at the sight of you looking so meek.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

Your hands cover your face as a sound escapes your throat. “Please stop, you're gonna kill me here.”

#rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei #shidou ryuusei x reader #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #ryusei shidou #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #chigiri #chigiri hyoma #hyoma chigiri #chigiri x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #fluff

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pali-writes-atiny-bit · 25 days

Text

Of Haircuts and Hyunjin

Pairing: Hyunjin x afab!reader (Y/N)

Summary: Hyunjin badly needs a haircut, and you're about to be his new favorite hairdresser.

WC: 1.95k

Content Warning: Intended for 18+ mature audiences, MDNI! Suggestive Content. Let me know if I missed anything else.

The rays of the early morning sun shine down as Hyunjin pulls up outside of his favorite salon, District 9. The exterior is a sleek and modern building with an interior design of black and white. You stand behind the cleric counter tapping away at the booking computer's keyboard. You've just opened, so you're the only one here. As he approaches the cleric counter you greet him with a smile and a small bow.

"Welcome to District 9! You must be Hyunjin. I'm Y/N and I'll be your hairdresser today. Do you know what kind of style you're looking for today?"

He confirms and gestures to his hair with a chuckle "I think it's time to cut this a bit shorter.” All through dance practice the previous evening his silky black hair had been falling in his eyes and sticking to the sweat trickling from his temples.

You smile again and laugh "I think I can handle that. Are you interested in any color?"

Hyunjin finds himself caught up in your laugh - it's so warm and sweet and it lights up your face. Your rich brown eyes crinkle at the edges and he notices you have the cutest lips with a perfect cupid's bow.

After a moment he realizes he still hasn't answered your question.

"Color? Hmm..." He ponders. He hadn't been thinking about color but he could be persuaded. "What would you recommend?"

You study him for a moment - taking in the fine planes and angles of his face - before turning and leading him back to the hair wash stations. "I think you'd look very nice with a deep burgundy color."

He follows you a few strides behind and takes in your outfit. You're wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck crop top and a free flowing red skater skirt paired with black over the knee boots. He can't help the fleeting thought about how hot you look.

Once you reach your assigned wash sink, you gesture for him to take a seat on the plush leather. He does as instructed and reclines back so his head is over the sink. You turn the water on and adjust the heat until it feels just right.

You have to lean over him slightly to thoroughly wet his hair. He looks up at you through his lashes and is startled to realize that he can just catch a glimpse of your underboob. It's just a small sliver of flesh, but it looks firm and perky, and delicious. His tongue flicks out to lick across his upper lip. He flushes slightly at the trajectory of his thoughts and squeezes his eyes shut hoping you don't notice.

He opens his eyes again as you turn off the water and glances up at you. You give him a smile before turning to pump some shampoo into your hands. As you work the shampoo into a lather you also begin to massage his scalp and it feels heavenly. He closes his eyes again and lets out a small sigh of pleasure as he melts into the seat.

You smirk at the sigh, you know it feels good - the wash step is everyone's favorite part about a haircut. While his eyes are closed, you study his face closer. His face is absolutely stunning, and you notice a beauty mark just below his left eye. You also notice the remnants of the flush that painted his face as you leaned over him earlier. He may be your client, but it seems that neither of you are immune to the other's charms. And that, that makes you want to make him feel better.

Continuing your massage, you begin lightly scratching your short nails across his scalp. A bolt of pleasure zings down his spine leaving goosebumps in its wake. He shivers slightly and groans softly. The feeling of your nails at his scalp is transferring directly to his cock. He struggles to quell his growing arousal. After all, the hair salon isn't the place to pop a full boner.

Eventually, you remove your hands from his head and Hyunjin almost whines from the loss. You turn the water back on to thoroughly rinse the shampoo out before pumping some conditioner into your hands and applying it. After a few minutes, you rinse out the conditioner and squeeze the water from his hair. You wrap his hair in a towel and then purposefully lean over him again before tapping his shoulder and letting him know he can get up.

He looks up and catches another glimpse of that tantalizing flesh before you straighten up. He subconsciously licks his lip again before moving to get up. He follows you to your hair cutting station. He could just be imagining it but your hips look like they have a little more sway during your steps - your skirt swishing teasingly.

He sits in the barber's chair and you fasten a cape around his neck before adjusting the chair to the proper height. You prepare your comb and clippers with a #4 guard and say "well, shall we get started then?" He nods and you begin running the clippers through his hair.

He strikes up a small conversation with you while he studies you through the mirror in front of you. He studies the way that top clings to your breasts. The way your skirt flares out from your waist. He asks how long you've been a hairdresser. You reply that you've been doing hair for about 7 years now, that your family doesn't approve, and that this is your first month with District 9. That explains why he's never seen you before, he'd have remembered.

You continue your movements while engaging in his idle chitchat, the words flowing effortlessly. Once his hair is uniformly clipped, you switch to your pair of scissors for the finishing touches. You spin the chair around to work on his hair in the front and Hyunjin promptly finds himself face to face with your perfect breasts. The barber’s chair is set to just the right height - all Hyunjin would need to do is lean forward and his face would nestle straight between your globes. The ones that he was just admiring in the mirror. Instead, he takes in a steadying breath through his nose. Notes of jasmine, amber, and a hint of citrus invade his senses. You smell smell warm, sensual and inviting. Rather than steadying himself, his exhale is even shakier.

You raise your arms to trim some uneven pieces of hair and your breasts rise with them. Christ. He groans to himself. He can tell you’re not wearing a bra, and if he’s not mistaken, he can see your nipples. Hard tips pressing against the ribbed material of your top. He can’t help but lick his lip again as he imagines what it would be like to take one of those points between his lips - his teeth.

As you're trimming with your scissors, you leave the ghost of touches along the shell of his ears, and down the back of his neck. Brief and teasing, but innocent enough to be passed off as accidents. The feather light touches heat his skin andsend jolts of pleasure shivering across his body. Between everything - his thoughts, your smell, your touches - he’s rock hard in his jeans. He’s never been more thankful that the cape covers his entire lap. He wonders if you know what you're doing to him. (You do - and you love how responsive he seems to be).

As quickly as you turned him to face you, you spin him back around. You set down your comb and scissors and brush off any stray pieces of hair that remain stuck to his shoulders. You lean down and whisper in his ear “all done.” His brain seems to freeze as he feels your warm breath caressing his ear. Before he realizes it, you’re standing up straight as if nothing happened asking "what do you think? Have you given any more thought to color?"

His brain is still struggling to catch up. Did he just imagine that you whispered in his ear? He clears his throat and studies his reflection in the mirror. He thinks the hair cut is perfect and just what he wanted. He shouldn’t have his hair in his eyes for a least a couple months. After studying himself for a second, his eyes slide to look at your reflection. His hair might be cut, but he’s not quite ready to leave yet. He swallows and replies "the cut is perfect and I think I'd love to get some color."

You grin and excitedly reply "you want to go with the burgundy?"

He nods and you clap your hands and head off to mix the dye.

He watches you go with a smirk on his face. Just what are you doing to him he thinks.

You return and apply the dye to his hair before setting a timer and leaning your back against the counter in front of him. You cross your arms, pushing your breasts together and up. After seeing them up close he wants to touch them so bad. To feel how they fill his palms, and to test their weight. He has to clench his jaw and his hands into fists below the cape before he does something that would be very inappropriate.

You catch him staring and give him a smirk and wink. "Do you like what you see?" Your voice is low and sultry.

"Darling, you have no idea," he groans. You might have some idea you think to yourself.

You unfold your arms to push yourself up to sit on top of the counter. As you do so your skirt rises slightly. Hyunjin’s gaze tracks straight to the toned thighs that are revealed a little more. You cross your legs, allowing him a flash of your panties as you do. "Well, I like what I see too,” you say as you not so subtly look him up and down. He flushes slightly but meets your gaze. His twin orbs seeming to mirror the desire you feel.

You spend the next 30 minutes waiting for the color to develop and exchanging flirty remarks. When the timer goes off you lead him back to the hair wash station. You know exactly what you’re doing as you take your final chance to lean over him. You take your time carefully rinsing the dye from his hair.

Afterwards, you lead him back to the chair for a quick blow dry. As you fan the heated air across his hair, ears, and neck he can’t help but think of the warm air that came from your breath. He stares hard at your reflection while you work - thinking of this experience and all the things he’d like to do to you. Glancing at him in the mirror, you catch him staring.

Turning off the blow dryer you place it back in its holding slot. You lower the barber’s chair to it’s resting position and remove the cape from around his neck. "Alright Hyunjin, if you're done checking me out, let's go ahead and get you checked out!" You grin at him and he smirks back, taking a moment to not so subtly adjust himself. Your eyes flick down to the way he grabs himself through his jeans. It’s your turn to lick your lips.

At the cleric counter he hands you his sleek black card and you ring him up. He signs the receipt and leaves you a big tip. You hand him a copy of the receipt. At the bottom is a hastily scribbled note.

In case you want to do more than look ###-###-#### - <3 Y/N

A/N: Thanks for reading my second fic, y'all. I left this one suggestive but let me know if you'd be interested in a part 2.

Also, my requests are open and I'd love to hear your ideas!

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids ff #skz ff #skz fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hwang hyunjin x you

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hannie-dul-set · 4 months

Text

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. when you’re nearly run over by a car, and said car happens to be a porsche 918 spyder, your broke ass knows better than to let this one in a million miracle slip by.

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. emotionally-stunted idiots to lovers, implied college! au, rich boy x not-so-rich girl trope but neither of them are normal! they’re both not well adjusted! mc is an actual scammer and ricky’s love language is throwing out exorbitant amounts of cash, romance, humor, angst if you squint but i prefer it when things are stupid, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearing, probably a number of illegal things, dubious medical practices, scamming, gold-digging, mild manipulation, a not very healthy dynamic at first but we’ll get there, more tba. WORD COUNT. teaser: 915 | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. within january, maybe. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. hello riyangi nation i have another insanity-driven wip to offer. hopefully i go crazy again and write 4-5k a day like my last ricky longfic HAHAHHAHAH. this one has a bit more plot, a bit more seriousness, but still on the spectrum of unhinged!!! hope u enjoy.

preview under the cut.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD OUT THERE. You’ve learned this lesson time and time again, ever since the early age of six— when your father got kicked out from his own start-up thanks to his greedy cousins, when you got in trouble for punching a classmate in first grade because he lifted up your skirt but the fucker was the grandson of your primary school’s dead, and when your high school scholarship got screwed over because “your parents unfortunately don’t support the school enough,” and you flipped off your home teacher all while calling him an ass-kissing, money-grabbing piece of shit.

Well, you were forced to transfer after that.

At least your new school didn’t base their scholarship grants on fucking PTA donations instead of grades.

From then on, you’ve learned that the only way to survive is to screw people over before getting screwed over yourself. There’s no point being nice. You can’t bother being a doormat to people who don’t even contribute a cent to your rent. You’re not wasting your smiles for people you can’t use.

Maybe it’s how you’ve grown to be so opportunistic, because the moment you and a friend were told that only one of you could get a full ride to Yonsei University— you didn’t think twice to cut him off. You stopped sharing your notes. You stopped studying together because why should you be nice to your competition? He was more well off than you anyway. His future doesn’t rely on handouts like it yours does.

Bottomline, yes, you’re not the nicest person in the world. Sure, you screwed over some strangers opting to go to the same job interview as you by giving them the wrong directions. Maybe you cut yourself off from your parents the moment you turned legal when their debt started getting to them and they started relying on you to get out of the pitfall instead of pulling their own fucking weigh. Yes, you’re not a good person. You’re fully aware of that.

Which is why you can’t exactly say fuck you to god when karma comes to bite you in the ass via a car accident on your way to your weekend work shift.

The dead and quiet road you usually cross is now filled with noises of panic.

“Oh my god— dude! Call an ambulance!”

Your lungs hit asphalt and your head starts ringing. A pained hiss slips through gritted teeth. Something’s broken, you grunt, or at the very least not how it should be based on the sharp pain you’re feeling on the arm wedged between your body and the rough and dusty road. “Are they dead?!” you hear someone yell, followed by a car door swinging and footsteps running closer, yet your eyes remain squeezed shut from the blinding headlights and the aching of your entire body.

But it’s not the pain you’re dwelling on. No. It’s the hospital bills and the inevitable days off you’d have to take thanks to your god forsaken fucking luck.

The car should’ve just killed you on the spot.

“Are you okay?!”

However when you finally open your eyes and recognize the embodiment of your karma body slamming you into the ground in the form of a freaking Porsche, your worries suddenly get washed away into oblivion.

Holy shit, you’re fully conscious now. You’ve just hit the jackpot.

“O—oh, she’s awake, she’s awake! Gyuvin—”

Whoa.

There’s a person hovering above you. Rather, the person’s gold gilded necklace is dangling in front of your face. This is more than a jackpot. This is better that the fucking lottery.

“What—what do I do?”

“Is she responsive?!”

“U—uhm— are you okay?” Pretty boy that you assume is the one who nearly killed you is flitting his eyes in panic and is unsure with what to do with his hands. His face aside, the guy is decked out in designer clothing. You don’t miss the engravings on his jacket, the shiny glints of gold coiled around his panicked fingers. You’re not letting his chance slip away. You let out a grunt of pain and start folding into yourself. “Ahh, I don’t think she’s okay! What’s the number for 119?!”

Half acting. Half actually fucking hurting because ow. Maybe you did break something.

“I don’t know! Taerae, what’s the number for—”

“Are you two stupid?!”

Well shit. The pain stops paining because if they bring you to a hospital different from the one you have in mind, it’d be a loss for you. So you play it up even more. “A—ah, I think something’s broken,” you wince. Pretty boy drops his phone and tries helping you prop yourself up.

“Crap. I think it’ll take too long if we call an ambulance,” says one of his companions behind him. “H—hey, do you mind if we just take you to the hospital right now?”

Now, this doesn’t sound safe. Around three men in their early twenties with very evidently no first aid experience delivering an injured woman to the hospital with what you think is a two-seater car is a recipe for disaster. You’re still on the dirty ground, arm definitely broken, with a rich guy looking like he’s about to start crying at any moment very hesitantly trying his best to help you sit up.

They’re waiting for your answer. And the answer is pretty obvious.

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

Because if you get even more injured along the way, that’ll simply be an extra bonus for you.

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

#shen ricky x reader #ricky x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zerobaseone x reader #shen ricky x you #zb1 ricky x you #zb1 x you #zerobaseone x you #zerobaseone fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zb1 ricky imagines

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oksurethisismyname · 3 months

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There’s a lot of One Piece student/ high school Aus but I suggest One Piece teacher AU

Note: these descriptions are based on my experience as a teacher in southern USA. Where I’m at, you have to be certified to teach in public schools and it is a well known fact that coaches are almost always history teachers (don’t ask why)

Luffy is one of those coaches that is also a history teacher, but every student knows he only got his history license so he could be a coach. He’s taking girls volleyball to state this year, they are absolutely destroying their opponents. He teaches World History and is known for being vocally anti government / capitalist, but also super optimistic.

Sanji is a French teacher who is also certified in Home Ec. He is known by students to be a bit of a hard ass but he always brings food from whatever francophone country their learning about and students low key love him for always having snacks ready for kids who might not have enough lunch money or have breakfast at home.

Zoro is a coach as well, and he got certified in Japanese so he teaches one section and then uses the rest of his time coaching. Him and Sanji are both on the World Languages department and when the state language competition rolls around, they go HARD. Somehow he got roped into teaching health this year but is really hoping the teaching intern will get hired and take that over next year.

Nami is a certified geography and economics teacher, which is unfortunately apart of the history department so she’s stuck in stupid department meetings with Luffy. Shes in charge of detention and has students do stuff for her class as “punishment”, but really it’s a fun time with music playing and her classroom is always spotless after.

Robin is obviously also a history teacher. She’s AP certified so she does AP World, AP US, and AP Euro. Her students love her but are also kind of afraid of her. She’s currently advocating for the inclusion of AP African American Studies at their school.

Franky is part of the vocational program at the school, doing mechanic and wood working stuff with students. Alternatively, Franky could be the maintenance guy at the school. He’s always around fixing something.

Usopp is the drama teacher. He is the most chosen elective because he’s super funny and also has a habit of getting off topic and just not giving tests. He and Franky work together on set design and lighting for the school shows.

Brook is the choir and orchestra director. He’s super old so students think it’ll be boring but day 1 he is acting a total fool and kids love this crazy old man.

Chopper is a student teacher doing his internship as a biology teacher. He’s got major baby face and a sweet voice which is funny considering his teaching mentor is Dr. Trafalgar Law, who has resting bitch face and a tired annoyed voice. His AP bio and AP anatomy classes are some of the hardest classes at the school, but chopper offers tutoring and students are doing better now that they see Dr. Law being kind to Chopper .

Jimbei is the guidance counselor. He’s always got his door open for students to talk to him and he never judges them. He’s kind and patient and students trust him.

#one piece #one piece school au #one piece teacher au #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #soul king brook #cat burglar nami #god usopp #one piece franky #trafalgar law #jimbei #monkey d luffy

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burr-ell · 1 year

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I'll preface this by saying that I don't by any means begrudge anyone their own personal headcanons or interpretations, but I kinda have to get it off my chest that I'm personally not very comfortable with significant deviations from canon character design on CR, and I really tend to side-eye people who have declared their fanart to be "better".

And sure, some of that is because i'm a cranky old bastard. But some of that is that I also have an animation degree and have studied character design. Creators generally give artists a fair amount of input as to how they want their designs to connote the characters' personalities—not just in terms of clothing or hairstyle, but in the overall shape of the silhouettes and body structures. And in the case of CR in particular, that's coming from a place of much closer familiarity with the characters because the creator is actually going to be embodying them for a fairly long period of time, so when the fan response is heavy deviation from that, I think it can feed into some unhealthy fanon perceptions and projections.

Like, for example, it's not so much that I think fanartists are "disrespecting the creators" or whatever when they keep giving Imogen a sweet little round face and big hips/breasts and cute circular glasses, but I've also studied shape language in art. You're communicating something when you design her this way; if a character's silhouette has a lot of circles, visually that connotes being friendly, sweet, and cute. The person who first suggested drawing her with glasses explicitly said they thought it would look cute—and no shade to them! They can like whatever they want!

But canonically, Imogen is a woman in her 20s who's been dealing with unanswered questions, abandonment, loneliness, and sheer exhaustion from trying to hold back and control powers that she never asked for—and who simultaneously uses those powers even when it isn't necessary if she thinks it'll help her achieve a goal or prove a point. She isn't unfriendly, and she wants to do the right thing, but she's also someone who's consciously chosen to keep to herself for most of her life, and yet simultaneously she's quite adept at persuading and deceiving people. I think we're meant to pick up that sense of world-weariness and cynicism from her angular facial features and thin frame. That's...kind of just how character design works.

I think the trend of disregarding the official art and giving her softer features has had an impact on the perception of Imogen as a character. I see a lot of views of her that really remove a lot of her agency, treating her like she's only ever been a victim of circumstance who's never put a foot wrong. Some fans got pushback for pointing out that it really wasn't cool for Imogen to openly contemplate whether or not the Ruby Vanguard might be right in front of three people who were killed by Otohan, insisting that imogen was just dealing with a lot right then. And yes, she was, but that doesn't mean that the way she was dealing with it doesn't say something about her as a character. I don't know if I'd call it coddling, necessarily (even though perhaps there are some very coddling takes I just haven't seen), but there seems to be some resistance, in some circles, to the idea that Imogen isn't a put-upon martyr. And in those same circles, round friendly-looking glasses-wearing Imogen abounds, to the point of editing the official art itself to "fix it".

Truth be told I'd be willing to bet that the rounder cuter Imogen actually came about because of the initial impression of her, given how much fanon at the start of c3 revolved around poor baby Imogen with her scary nightmares needing the wiser, worldlier Laudna to comfort her and kiss it better, but those visuals also proliferated rather quickly and well beyond past the point where that fanon was feasible anymore, and I think both aspects of that fanon ended up informing each other. It's not lost on me that the rounder and cuter-looking Imogen performs the literal function of sanding down her harder edges.

And like I said, I'm not here to be needlessly negative toward what other people want to do. If you want to draw the characters differently to their official art, I don't think either the cast or the artist are especially offended by it. But I personally dislike it, in part because I think some of these trends are a way for fans to claim a certain amount of ownership over the characters, whether they intend it or not. And the ultimate outcome of that is that when creators inevitably assert their ownership over a deeply personal story in a way that fans don't like, the backlash is much stronger than it reasonably should be, which is something I think the CR fandom has seen often enough not to continue doing as often as it does.

#cr meta #critical role #cr discourse #cr wank #i think chubby jester vs skinny jester also falls into this #and don't get me wrong i 100% support representation of body types and the cast does too #but there's a certain amount of overlap between chubby jester and weird fanwanky c2 stans #it's. usually the folks who cling to fanon art interpretations who get the most angry at the cast when things don't go their way #like i don't have StatsTM or whatever to prove it but i've noticed some trends #also it's always the female characters and particularly laura bailey's characters who get hit with this attitude the most #like! just say you don't like a call laura made! i promise you no one's gonna call 911!

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drnikolatesla · 3 months

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X-Ray Image Taken By Nikola Tesla (1896)

Though not widely known, Nikola Tesla spent a great deal of time intensively researching X-rays, publishing his results during the period between March 11, 1896 to August 11, 1897. He also gave a lecture on April 6, 1897 presenting designs of several different devices that could generate these powerful rays. During this lecture, he shared similar data and conclusions from his earlier experiments with Crookes tubes in 1894. Crookes tubes were invented by British scientist William Crookes in order to study electrical discharges in vacuum tubes. During Tesla’s experiments in 1894, he observed that some of the tubes that produced only feeble visible light had more effect on photographic plates than tubes which were brighter. Since it was obvious that there must be some kind of energy coming from the tubes with feeble light, and their properties were still unknown, Tesla used the term “radiant matter" to describe these radiations. With these tubes, Tesla produced some of the first X-ray imaging, which he called “shadowgraphs,” due to their dark nature, but still did not realize the importance of these radiations. To him, the photographs taken seemed to be spoiled due to unaccountable marks and defects. In March of 1895, a fire broke out in his laboratory, destroying practically all of his equipment and experimental data to date. It took several months before he could resume his work, and in the meantime, a German scientist named Wilhelm Röntgen made his X-ray discovery in the same year (December, 1895). Roentgen first detected the radiation by accident in his experiments where he was testing whether cathode rays emitted from Crookes tubes could pass through glass, and or other solid objects, but was astonished to find that the rays emitted would pass through thinner objects and leave shadows of the more solid objects behind (such as with skin and bones). When Tesla heard this news, it was immediately obvious to him what had been problematic in his laboratory work. Realizing and regretting that he had missed out on making a major scientific discovery, Tesla would say, “I realized that my guiding spirit had again prompted me and that I had failed to comprehend his mysterious signs.” He repeated Röntgen's experiments, and came to much better results than Röntgen and others since he had his newly developed Tesla Coil. With this apparatus, he immediately realized the importance of high voltages for producing powerful rays and suggested using his newly developed single-terminal tubes and connecting them to the secondary coil of the transformer. In 1896, Röntgen acknowledged Tesla’s discoveries and in a lecture before the Physical Medical Society in Wurzburg, Germany, discussed the advantage of using Tesla’s high-frequency transformer in generating X-rays. Tesla would also become one of the first scientists to point out the harms of these rays and developed safer ways to utilize them for medical use. Methods we still use today. On the other side of town, others like Thomas Edison thought these newly discovered rays could cure the blind. Many patients who were experimented upon starting showing terrible illnesses, one being his assistant who later had to have both arms amputated. Edison was quoted in an interview saying, “Don’t talk to me about X-rays…I am afraid of them.”

Nikola Tesla would later give all credit to Röntgen for the discovery, and throughout the next few years, produced some of the best X-ray imaging that even Röntgen praised. In a letter to Tesla, Röntgen wrote, “Dear Sir! You have surprised me tremendously with the beautiful photographs of wonderful discharges, and I tell you thank you very much for that. If only I knew how you make such things!”

#nikola tesla #science #history #x ray #X-rays #technology #invention #medical #electricity #quotes #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

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ladyofthenoodle · 4 months

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this christmas i’m thinking about “it’s a wonderful life” and adrien agreste. imagine plagg coming over to marinette’s to talk with the kwamis. he’s concerned about adrien, who hasn’t been himself since he learned the truth about his father. maybe it’s after season 5, and he wasn’t even there to help defeat monarch. and he learns he’s the reason his mother is dead, and now his father too, and his father terrorized all these people to bring his mother back. and he sits on this and thinks maybe things would be better if he’d never been born. maybe there’d be no monarch. maybe his parents would be happy together. and it’s not like ladybug ever needed him, anyway.

plagg came to ask tikki and marinette for help. but it’s fluff who suggests giving adrien what he wants.

immediately, adrien can tell something’s darker about this new world. his mother is alive, but she’s not happy with gabriel. she’s not even in paris anymore—she went back to live with her parents and her sister—who doesn’t have a child, either. his father is even colder than adrien remembers, and he treats nathalie more like a servant than a partner.

still, there’s no monarch. so adrien thinks this world could still be better than one with him in it.

but no monarch means no ladybug. as he walks down the street, he sees mister ramier getting arrested. at school, damocles is nothing more than a puppet that follows andre bourgeois’ orders—which are still chloe’s orders, here, and without adrien or ladybug, she’s crueler than he’s ever seen her. he barely recognizes his friends. nino sits in the back of class and doesn’t speak to anyone. alya reads superhero comics alone with her head down. mlle bustier is gone—fired in within the first few weeks of the school year at chloe’s behest.

and marinette… isn’t there.

he finds out she’s been expelled. no one knows where she is now—alya doesn’t even know her name and no one else has bothered to check on her. he runs to find her, but the bakery’s been shut down—orders of the mayor. he can see the lights on above, though, and that someone is still living there. but when he transforms and lands on marinette’s balcony, its bare. no plants, no decorations, nothing. she’s there in her room though. when he looks through the window he can see her studying with sabine. her desk has nothing but textbooks. no design sketches, no bulletin board of friend pictures, nothing.

when sabine leaves the room, marinette curls into a ball and cries.

that’s when adrien begs fluff to take him back. when he says, “i want to live again. take me back to my lady, please.”

#miraculous ladybug #fic ideas #adrien agreste #noodling #obviously he returns and runs to see marinette #who has every person in their class over and a pull down wall scroll with a 27 step plan to help him #he runs in crying and kisses her and no one knows what is going on but they all start cheering anyway

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esmedelacroix · 6 months

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Coffee Shop Love Pt.4

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffmania, implied age gap, suggestive, forced proximity

author's note: Hi lovies, :( this part is coming to you very late >.< ! The semester is ending soon and I'm an academic weapon so I've been writing papers and studying, here's the fourth chapter for y'all :) ! I suggest you read this chapter while listening to "Strangers In The Night" by Frank Sinatra on repeat it sets the perfect tone for this chapter, enjoy...

word count: 1.6k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

You both looked down at your phones in disbelief. Your thoughts raced like a thousand wild stallions, galloping through your mind at breakneck speed What do we do? Will he have to stay over? How will he react when I tell him I have one bed? He couldn't fit on the couch to save his life. You thought to yourself trying to figure out what could be done.

"So a whole day here?" Miguel asked as the shock slowly dissipated from his face.

"Yeah, well I better lock up and turn the heaters on," you said as you got up the locked the doors.

"So uh, I live upstairs," you said awkwardly.

"Okay, I live several blocks down," He joked eliciting a chuckle from you as laughter danced lightly upon Miguel's chest.

"You know what I mean, I'm inviting you into my apartment," you said pointing at the stairs as a flush crept onto your cheeks.

"I'm just pulling your leg chula," he chuckled. You both walked up the stairs to your apartment. A melange of peppermint, gingerbread, and vanilla, like Santa's North Pole workshop in an aromatic form.

The fireplace crackled merrily, festive blankets were strewn across the couch, and a tray of gingerbread cookies patiently awaited their turn in the oven. Your apartment was the epitome of Holiday cheer and warmth. The exact opposite of Miguel's place. Which was currently dark cold and empty. Not a trace of color other than the black and dark blue that his interior designer had insisted on. But was the point of a home that didn't feel like anyone was living in it? Your house was all color. Your house had memories scattered over the wall just like in the shop. Your house had lights all around, messy blankets and pillows, dishes in the sink, and baked goods sprinkled all over the dining table.

"So sorry it's a little messy," you murmured timidly.

"That's fine, it's nice," he mumbled.

You both looked at each other awkwardly before turning away. "So, I only have one bed, and there's no way you're fitting on the couch so, I could take the couch," you thought aloud.

"Well I'm not going to make you sleep on your couch," he said.

"I'm fine with sharing the bed, as long as you don't make it weird," you said.

"Well you just made it weird by thinking that I was gonna make it weird," he quipped.

"Well, well, ditto," you rebutted.

"Ditto? Double ditto," he chuckled.

"Double double ditto times a million trillion gazillion," you giggled.

You both burst into a fit of laughter. You both agreed to take turns in the shower. You lent him your brother's old clothes that he had left the last time he visited. That was how Miguel ended up sitting on your couch with a generic pair of black and red plaid pj pants. With the ugliest ugly sweater on. You plopped down next to him, straight out of the shower.

Your hair smelled like fresh candy canes. He could smell it every time it would whip around when you cracked your neck. Your skin smelled faintly like sweet gingerbread and vallina. You had an interesting selection of Christmas-themed self-care. What's the use of 'sugar cookie' lip balm? I kind of want to taste it..., ew Miguel, he thought to himself.

"So since you have to spend all night and a whole day with me, you have to understand why I love Christmas so much. We're going to watch only the best holiday movie series ever, 'A Christmas Prince,'" you said excitedly as you got up and got some holiday treats and put them on the coffee table.

"This better not be some sappy romance," he groaned.

"Oh hunny, it's all the sap, all drama, and all stupidity and miscommunication. But that's what makes them so good," you explained.

Although Miguel was sure he would hate the movie, he was more invested in it than you were. Every time you would try to talk he would shush you, "I need to see what happens next," he would whisper as he strangled you squish mellow from anticipation.

You started messing with him by talking during the movie which got him so frustrated he threw a pillow at your face playfully. But you had taken this as a declaration of battle and started a pillow fight. It was full-on warfare and giggles all around. You could tell Miguel was holding back all of his strength because he could probably actually hurt you.

You pounced on Miguel, knocking him backward onto the couch. Pillows flew in the air around you as you both tumbled, your laughter turning into shared, breathless excitement.

You found yourself on top of him, faces inches apart, heartbeats racing. Your warm breaths hit each other's face, and you both lay there, staring into each other's eyes.

Miguel's playful smile slowly softened into something deeper, something more intimate. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in that brief moment of connection.

Your breath caught as the intensity of the moment enveloped you. You felt a magnetic pull towards Miguel, an unspoken attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, and as your eyes locked, they shared a moment of understanding, a silent promise of what could be.

But just as quickly as it had come, the moment was broken by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, signifying to the two of you that the gingerbread was ready. The laughter returned, but now it held an extra layer of tension, a newfound awareness of the connection you had just shared.

You both get up, brush yourselves off, and head to the kitchen to take the baked goods out. "Why bake more when you have a million variants of baked goods everywhere?" Miguel inquired as he helped you put the slabs of gingerbread into your fridge to cool.

"I have to test and create the entire seasonal menu before I serve it," you explain.

"That sounds tiring..." he starts.

"No! It's actually really fun! Here try this red velvet cake," she said excitedly. Miguel was waiting for another opportunity to have your baking without having to outright ask you for some, and you knew that.

He took a bite and to no one's surprise, he loved it. But he wouldn't tell you that and tried not to let it show either. The rest of the night went on without a hitch until you were both exhausted. You took a look at the clock, [2:23 am]. Your eyelids felt heavier, and you could see Miguel start to blink for a little too long while trying to watch the third Christmas Prince movie. You used all the energy left in your body to get up. "C'mon big guy, we should get to bed," you said tapping his shoulder. All you got from him was a small smirk and picked up a pillow and whipped it at his face.

"You nasty!" you started before stopping and stomping into your room. Miguel followed you into your room chuckling lowly.

The moon cast a soft glow through the bedroom window, painting the room in muted silver hues as you and Miguel settled into bed. There was an unspoken tension between you two, a tangible distance that lingered in the cool air. The bed, once a refuge for dreams, now seemed an expanse to navigate cautiously. As the night unfolded, lost in the realm of dreams, you began to shiver subtly. Miguel noticed your discomfort, remembering you telling him that you were always cold.

With hesitancy, he inched closer, the space between you shrinking with each careful movement. The distance that had felt overwhelming moments ago now seemed trivial, as if the gravitational pull of shared warmth was irresistible. Miguel's arms encircled your body, a gentle cradle against the night's chill. His body heat became a lifeline, a silent promise to ward off the cold. Nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, he couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability of sleep and the unspoken connection that drew them closer.

You, amid a dream, sighed with the blissful surrender of someone finding solace. As Miguel held you close, your shivers ceased, replaced by a quiet tranquility. The once-distinct boundary between them dissolved into the shared warmth of the moment. In the hushed stillness, you emitted a soft, contented snore, a sound that resonated with an endearing charm. Miguel couldn't help but smile, finding the delicate symphony of her sleep both heartwarming and irresistibly cute.

Cuddling in bed wasn’t a part of the plan but you weren’t complaining. Your sweet scent invaded Miguel's senses. You smelled just as good as the cookies you had baked. Your skin was as soft as the velvety stockings you had hanging over your fireplace. He could stay like this forever. He never made wishes but he hoped and prayed that Medusa would come to him and turn him to stone so that he would never be able to let you go. He let fatigue carry him to dreamland, your snores acting as a fleeting melody in the silent serenade of the night.

Next... Pt.5

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@amber-content@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent

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doobea · 7 months

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KISS ME THRU THE PHONE - ISAGI YOICHI

synopsis: in which Isagi texts the wrong number and things kinda go downhill.

TWELVE - A melody stuck in my head. -> MASTERLIST contents: fem!reader, college au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, he fell first but you fell harder, generally sfw, different povs, isagi is putting in WORK, and we love his supportive friend group, its very 2010s vibes in terms of romance and i honestly love it word count: 1.8K a/n: woo first written portion out of like two? smau texts towards the end hehe but overall this is super tooth-rotting fluff

It's been maybe 30 minutes tops. But Chigiri convinces you that it's been well over an hour. The time frames that you guys throw out are strikingly different because there's no way that you see yourself spending over an hour deciding which color to buy for a dress that may or may not be out of your tax bracket.

Rin looks up from his phone when his name gets called out. He's sitting in the designated 'man cave' area of the women's department store, which is just two sofas surrounded by large photo frames of stereotypical shirtless men in their boxers. Super manly and definitely not catered toward single mothers.

"Have you guys decided on something?" He quirks a brow.

"No," You miss the frown on Rin's face as you shove the same two dresses in front of him again. "Hyoma says it's been over an hour but that's impossible!"

"It has been." Chirigi purses his lips and tries his best to hold back any signs of annoyance because, at the end of the day, he was the one who was adamant about you going to the mall in the first place. Going to the mall specifically to buy an outfit for your fake confession that's going to happen in front of the entire football team later this week.

"It hasn't, Hyo." Your tone is certain.

Rin clears his throat and shuts his phone off. "Actually, it has. You've been showing us the same two dresses for this entire outing."

Your cheeks heat from embarrassment and you clutch the dresses to your chest. "Even if an hour has passed, it's still a hard decision." Or are you just making it hard on yourself? You're not really sure.

Chirigi sighs before resting a hand on your shoulder. "Never knew you would be down this bad for a crush."

There's no protest from you, just awkward fidgeting and debating if it was even a good idea to bring your friends with you in the first place. Before you can come up with an answer, your phone rings with a familiar blue heart flashing across the screen.

You don't know the face you're making right now, but judging from the smirk Chirigi and Rin throw at you, you know it's probably not a 'cool, stoic, totally not blushing' look. Finally, you put the white dress back on the clothing rack and briskly walk to the other side of the store and away from your nosy best friends. Blue looks better on you anyway.

"Hey!" You try to attempt to be super casual.

"Hey?" Isagi replies back, sounding more confused than anything.

There's an awkward pause before Isagi continues. "Aah, you don't have to go out of your way to dress up, you know that right?"

And there it is. You want to crawl into the nearest trash can and disappear for the rest of the day.

Isagi stares intensely at his phone and shifts through his curated playlist. He's been playing every song out loud in the living room for the past few minutes, seemingly unaware of his own roommate trying to study a few feet away.

Isagi hums and closes his eyes as he listens to the current song playing, trying to envision if it was 'right' for the planned moment, before skipping it entirely with a heavy sigh.

"That's not it either."

He does this process again with another generic romance song from the early 2000s. The beat is catchy, he's not sure if he likes the vocals, and the lyrics are a little bit suggestive. Maybe this song is too much, he decides. And skips to the next one.

Rinse and repeat.

Again, Isagi fails to notice a very tired-out Reo by the kitchen table with his own set of headphones on, tapping away at his laptop with at least three cups of coffee at his side and wearing a very grim expression. Suddenly, Isagi feels something small but hard hit the back of his head.

"Hey, what the hell—"

"Take that shit elsewhere, some people have exams coming up!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Isagi rushes up to his feet and takes his belongings, flashing his roommate a genuine apologetic smile. "I'll let you do your thing."

"Good," Reo's voice hardens immediately, and readjusts his focus back on his screen again. This only lasts approximately ten seconds because Isagi pops by his side with his playlist in Reo's face. "Oh my god what—"

"This song?" Isagi plays a quick sample before switching over. "Or this song?"

"Just fucking sing to her at this point."

"What? That's an awful idea, Reo."

Rin has lost count of just how many times you've paced back and forth in your bedroom. He thinks it's 25. Chirigi is lying down on your mattress with one of your romance books in his hands and almost yawning at this point because of course you can't decide on what shoes to wear with your blue dress.

Rin adjusts his position as he sits by your vanity and starts playing with some of your self-care items. He thinks he's touching a beauty blender or whatever they're called. It's squishy.

"Not to sound dramatic or anything," Chigiri begins as he flips a page over. "But at this rate, we might miss the football game."

You groan and look over your shoulder. "You do sound dramatic."

Not dramatic at all, Rin wants to say.

Isagi had sent out a text to a shared group chat earlier in the week about the starting time for the football match — 5:30pm is when warm-ups start and then 6:00pm is when the match begins. He then texted both Rin and Chigiri that he'll whip out his 'master plan' around 7:45pm near the locker rooms.

The digital clock on your desk reads 5:45 and you're still fidgeting around. Chigiri is slightly annoyed but won't outwardly say it to your face. Rin thinks it's cute seeing you fluster over a guy. And he feels at ease knowing that Isagi is willing to go out of his way with all these elaborate plans just to make sure you feel safe and comfortable.

"Mhm, I hope a wedding happens," Rin mumbles. It doesn't catch your or Chigiri's attention because when he looks up from your vanity, Chigiri throws a pair of white sandal platforms in your arms.

"Please, for the love of god, let's leave now."

"Fine! I was just gonna pick them out too!"

The football match ends with a grand finale goal scored by none other than Isagi Yoichi. Even if he didn't make the goal, the team would've won regardless since the score was up by three additional points. The scene looks straight out of one of those cheesy sports movies where the whole team runs onto the field and tackles the main character, screaming and cheering a bunch of incoherent sounds to celebrate their victory. Add some Gatorade, cheerleaders doing their chants, a little bit of crowd surfing, and end scene.

Isagi looks happy, maybe even fucking ecstatic, despite being covered in sweat and you're positive that he feels on top of the world when he searches the crowd and locks his gaze onto yours.

You shrink into the bleachers and cover your warm cheeks with your hands. You kinda hate how he has this effect on you. "He's looking at me!"

"No surprise there," Rin chews mindlessly on an overpriced pretzel that he got from a vendor earlier. "Have any idea how he's gonna do it?"

"Oh my god, no! Should I be worried? What if I look dumb? Does my hair look okay? How about—"

"You look great," Chirigi reassures with a gentle pat on your head. "Get ready, it looks like he's getting his things from the locker room now."

You still have no idea what dumb song he decided on. Or if he actually went out and brought you flowers and some dumb pieces of chocolate. Or, even worse, he scraped the original plan and hopped back onto Reddit of all places for more unwarranted advice. Regardless of what Isagi decides, he's going to leave you a blushing mess by the end of the night.

You snap out of your thoughts when your best friends nudge you out of your seat.

"Let's meet up with them, I think I see him carrying the speaker." Rin peers into the distance.

Chigiri stands up and almost laughs. "Looks like he has some backup dancers too."

"He has what now?"

The team finishes their group huddle for the night by the locker rooms. The conversation consists of unwarranted butt slaps from his teammates and a whole lot of 'do that again next season'.

Isagi overhears his captain bragging about how many fangirls were cheering for him from the stands tonight and looks away to roll his eyes. He feels a combination of heated insults forming on his tongue but that disappears when he feels Bachira's crushing weight on his back.

"Are we ready yet?" His friend chirps.

"Ready is an understatement," Isagi flashes a grin before pulling out his phone and boombox from his gym bag. "Let's show Aiku what we're made out of."

"Hey," Isagi looks over his shoulders to see Reo and Nagi carrying the gifts he had brought earlier, a bouquet of light blue roses, a small teddy bear charm, and a box of chocolates. "Don't fuck this up."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He grins carelessly, but there's a weight to his words.

They get into formation when Isagi sees you walking over. He couldn't make out your outfit during the game and frankly thought you weren't going to dress up at all, but when you're within an arm's length away, he feels his breath getting stuck in his throat. You look absolutely stunning in his eyes, and he feels slightly bad for putting you on the spot and having everyone see you in this way. He selfishly wishes that it's a private confession.

Isagi clears his throat before pressing 'play'. As soon as he hears the first note, he starts his speech. Bachira, Reo, and Nagi shuffle awkwardly back and forth, waving their phones around with the flashlight on as the whole football team, and you included, gawks in silence.

"Shawty's like a melody in my head That I can't keep out, got me singin' like Na na na na everyday"

"Honestly, it feels surreal to be doing this right now since this all started from a wrong number a few weeks ago." Isagi finds himself struggling to find his words when he meets your eyes but he manages to push through and stick with his script. "I look forward to sending you good morning texts every day and I find myself smiling more whenever I'm with you. You're everything that I find myself wanting and I would love it if you came to formal with me."

TAGLIST

@fabitheraven, @froggie-zusya23, @rroxii,@anurst,@silly-ez, @userwithlotsoftime, @tiniewife, @zeld6lvr, @macspov, @plopify, @urluvvdommm, @theweirdfloatything, @shironagi, @avogigi, @limerence-lu, @exatse, @cloooudmilk, @keijiqahara, @kakie @xacgrx @reiners-milkbiddies @arxliana @lazyogurt @kaitfae @yuxame @keiitsune @ch3nyan @ll-seishu @qwertyblo @mellozhi @y-sabell-a @izumi-astra-123 @blissblossom @slay0368 @hanniejji @mimikage @yoichiislovie @stwberri @wooasecret @faeroow @yuzurins @celestair @ascybous @satoruskitchenrag @laavatron @lupinandout @yoisami @softfor-svtptg @nymphsdomain @astro-pioneer @kunikame

a/n: hehe the song he plays is "Replay by Iyaz". the songs he was debating over are all listed in his playlist. could u imagine if isagi plays "hey daddy (daddy's home)" while confessing??? poor y/n would die!! anyways i think there is one more chapter left hehe sorry for the late update - life's been hectic atm!

#blue lock #doobea writing #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #blue lock smau #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #kiss me thru the phone - isagi yoichi

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pitruli · 1 month

Text

One Piece - Warrior Cats AU, but it's a post-apo world with cats playing pirates to replace humans; here's the strawhats first!

Finally made small clean designs of the ideas i had for months haha- Not sure who i'll make next but there's so many characters i want to draw as cats hehe (i can take suggestions)

got some notes under cut

Monkeydawn: can't remember why i made him a colour point- Warrior cat names are a pirate thing, and Dawn is exclusive to the Ds. The ribbon is basically the strawhat here, given by Redscar (i didn't like the look of hats on cats-). Leader of Strawclan but he's bad at names so everyone named themselves

Mossthorn: gray oriental cat. Formerly named Thorn the Fox, Moss is a joke from Snail but also his favorite colour so- He's Clan deputy and a knife wielder, the harness is to keep them on his back.

Waveberry: long hair calico cat. Formerly named Wave, and was Wavestorm in the fishcats' clan. Berries are still a currency here but it sounded better than trying to fit Tangerine in her name. First warrior of the clan and terrain painter. Oh and there's Cloudstar too (names in -star are deities names)

Pebbleflight: black tabby cat. Formerly Pebble and had too many ideas for his pirate name. He grows poisonous plants for projectiles. Wanted as Flyingspark and then Pebblestar (he also has a star on his forehead like WC leaders have in fanarts!)

Snailswirl: Turkish van. Snail is a name he was given by Redleg (such a joke for a french cook but i love it), and Swirl is a joke from Moss. He's both a warrior and a med cat, his cooking experiments helping with faster recoveries.

Antlerfall: Neko no mi, model: lynx. Was named like a pirate by med cat Cherrytree, as his antlers disappear in his full lynx form. He's actually taller than most of the crew in all his forms. The one and only med reindeer !

Ravenbloom: russian blue. Went by the name Newmoon in Baroque Works, and is wanted as "Devilkit". She took back her childhood name Raven when joining the clan. Six legged most of the time because come on it's useful. Studies the extinction of humans (the existence of humans is still to be proven)

Blueflame: blue Mainecoon. Formerly named Littleflame, and renamed Blue by Iceberg, mixed both names when joining the crew. Lost his tail and badly injured his paws in the train accident, so the cyborg part is more like an exoskeleton. And hey, being six legged is fun. Assigned builder of the crew.

Whalesong: Siberian cat. Had his name from the black and white pattern of his fur making him look like an orca, and it fits with Laboon! So yes he is wearing his own fur because of course. His soul form also look like a typical starclan spirit fanarts, and starclan is an old pirate legend here.

Sharkstrike: fishcat! I'm so close to make a whole speculative evolution project about fishcats, but basically, they are cats if they had taken the same evolutionary path as whales. He's not a shark, he's still "just" a cat, but most fishcats are named after sea creatures.

#reshie.art #one piece #one piece au #warrior cats au #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew #star piece

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redd956 · 1 year

Text

Writing Advice: Characterization

Writing characters can be really hard, and conveying personality to readers is just as difficult

I'm expert in this and I'm studying so take my word with a grain of salt

Here are some tips on writing characterization

Show don't tell of characterization

I'm sure my fellow writers are exhausted of hearing show don't tell, especially cause it's difficult to remember to do or master

And there's a lot of different ways to implement it, but I feel it means even more for characters because it gives you a chance to explore their personality

Sometimes it is better to tell, but many times showing grants you an upperhand take for example:

Character A was furious. Character B's voice was annoying them only further. They were ready to punch them in the face.

This can work, however it can easily bore the reader and goes little in the character or world themselves.

Character A glared at Character B, their arms tightly crossed, and leg impatiently tapping. All they could do was roll their eyes as Character B spoke. After all it got their mind off punching B in the face.

This is sentence shows more of the character. It shows that they have an attitude, and are more prone to punching people. I'm not good at explaining show don't tell, so I suggest looking into it, and remember that the rules aren't set in stone either.

Complexity

Character complexity helps aid the reader's suspension of disbelief and makes the characters feel more people-like. Not every character needs to be complex, and sometimes complexity isn't meant for one at all.

However it helps solidify a character, add more potential conflict to a story, and remove one-dimensionality.

Often times many stories start with one-dimensional characters and as installments and exploration increases, even the most silly characters become complex serious designs.

3 ways I prefer to show complexity

Show a character's thought process. Don't drown the reader in it, but dabble in character thoughts at moderate levels. Ig can help pacing anyway.

Give character groups opposing ideologies, beliefs, and ideas. Then show how these characters respond to them.

Give your characters bad traits and flaws. Don't stray towards hate-able personality, but understand that the world isn't black and white and neither shall your character be. The easiest way to do so and keep things complex is by extending already set positive traits. A character kind. Have them be too kind, let people go or trust people who shouldn't be trusted. Or they are kind to only certain groups of people, and need to learn to grow out of it.

Action

Actions, I'm not just talking about what your character does, although that is important too. Show me the character through how they do things, especially good to split up dialogue.

For example

Character A and B watched TV

This sentence works perfectly however if it is a moment where you're trying to characterize it can be utilized. For instance

The TV was playing a horror movie. Character A's eyes stayed glued to it, ignoring the fact that Character B was already clinging to them.

This tells you a lot more about the characters, and establishes a dynamic between the two as well.

Anyway that is all I can think off I hope this helps

#writing advice #writing advise #writing tips #writing hints #writing characters #characterization #writing #how to write characters #show dont tell #show don't tell #writing help #writing complexity

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nayziiz · 2 months

Text

No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse; SA; fluff

Masterlist

CHAPTER 5 (long chapter)

As Lando places his helmet on the table in front of Natalie and Max, the atmosphere around the breakfast table takes a shift. The intricate design and details of the helmet become the focal point, drawing the attention of both Natalie and Max.

They lean in, studying the helmet with a shared appreciation for the craftsmanship and personal touches that adorn it. The design, a reflection of Lando's personality and style, serves as a visual representation of his journey in the racing world.

Natalie, with her background in the racing industry, and Max, as a fellow driver, find a common ground in dissecting the nuances of the helmet's design. The breakfast table, once a casual meeting place, becomes a forum for their shared passion and understanding of the racing world.

“It’s the year of the rabbit, and it was also the year of the rabbit when I was born, so it just kind of made sense to do the lucky rabbit type design.” Lando explains. “What’d you think?”

“It’s sick.” Max agrees as he turns the helmet to get a better look.

“Nattie?” Lando asks when he sees her stay quiet.

“It’s cool, I like it.” She finally answers when she gets a turn to hold the helmet.

Natalie's internal struggle weighs heavily on her as she navigates her interactions with Lando. Since Suzuka, her demeanour has shifted, evident in the blunt text responses and the subtle avoidance when they arrived in Shanghai. This breakfast moment marks the first time Lando has seen her for an extended period without her disappearing.

Max's words linger in her mind, casting a shadow over her interactions with Lando. The reminder of their cuddles on the night of his first victory adds a layer of complexity to the dynamic. Natalie, consciously trying not to attach real feelings to their "fake romance," recognizes the potential for complications if she were to develop genuine emotions for Lando.

With Max excusing himself from the room due to a phone call, Lando and Natalie find themselves alone for the first time in two weeks. The lingering tension and unspoken emotions from Suzuka now simmer beneath the surface, and the air becomes charged with the weight of their unexplored dynamic.

The absence of Max, the temporary break from external influences, creates a space for a more genuine interaction between Lando and Natalie. Lando, sensing the shift in dynamics, looks at Natalie, his gaze holding a mix of curiosity and a desire for connection beyond the confines of their professional roles. Natalie, grappling with her internal conflict, meets his eyes, acknowledging the unspoken complexities that have been building between them.

“You don’t seem to be very impressed.” Lando comments as he takes the helmet from her and places it back in its bag.

“I said I like it, didn’t I?” Natalie abruptly responds, surprising both herself and Lando with her brash retort. The unexpected edge in her tone hangs in the air, leaving a moment of awkward silence between them. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

The fatigue, both physical and emotional, seeping through her words suggests that there might be more to her abrupt response than meets the eye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out tonight.” Lando suggests, expressing concern about the girls' night Natalie had planned with some of the drivers' girlfriends.

“I promised Lily I’d go otherwise she’ll never get used to the other girls.” Natalie responds, citing her commitment to attend the gathering. The sense of responsibility and loyalty to Lily adds a layer of complexity to Natalie's decision.

As Natalie reaffirms her commitment to attend the girls' night for Lily's sake, Lando studies her movements with a growing frown. The weariness in Natalie's demeanour, a departure from her usual preppy self, does not go unnoticed by Lando. The concern in his expression deepens, and he realises that her tiredness and the recent change in her behaviour might be taking a toll.

“We won’t stay out late, though.” Natalie assures Lando, recognizing his concern as she sees him watching her.

“I can always come pick you girls up.” Lando suggests, offering a solution to ensure their safety and well-being.

“Don’t be silly.” Natalie brushes off his suggestion, perhaps trying to maintain a sense of independence or not wanting to inconvenience him.

The exchange reflects the nuances of their dynamic—the genuine care and concern that Lando has for Natalie versus her desire to handle things on her own terms.

- LATER THAT NIGHT -

Natalie's surroundings in the loud and pulsating club become overwhelming, the music pounding in her head, and the flashing lights causing her discomfort. Feeling disoriented, she stumbles into a bathroom stall and locks the door behind her, seeking solace and escape from the overwhelming atmosphere.

The sensory overload triggers unsettling memories, and she recalls the sensation of someone dancing against her, hands roaming. The thought makes her nauseous, and she kneels over the toilet, vomiting at the memory. The cold, sticky bathroom floor adds to the unpleasant experience.

After wiping her mouth with a piece of toilet paper, she groans and tries to gather herself. In an attempt to find a semblance of comfort, she digs around in her purse and retrieves her phone. She dials Lando's number, pressing the phone to her ear, seeking a lifeline in the midst of the chaotic environment.

The ringing on the other end echoes in the bathroom stall, and as Natalie waits for Lando to answer, the gravity of the moment hangs in the air—an urgent plea for connection and support in a situation that has left her feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable.

“Nattie?” Lando almost instantly answers, offering a welcome relief to her distress.

“Lando, I need your help.” She mumbles, her voice breaking as the tears from vomiting run down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, the urgency evident in his tone, leaping off his bed and pulling on his sneakers.

“I don’t know where Lily is. I’ve looked everywhere.” She tells him, the worry apparent in her voice.tells him.

“Where are you now?” He asks, trying to assess the situation.

“I’m in a bathroom stall. I don’t feel very well, Lando.” She admits, her voice choked as she refrains from vomiting again.

“I’m on my way. Just stay in the bathroom, okay?” He assures her, his concern translating into a sense of urgency. The gravity of the situation becomes palpable as Lando rushes to her aid, promising the support she desperately needs in that vulnerable moment.

As Natalie sits on the closed toilet seat, her head resting against the wall, fifteen minutes later, she hears someone enter the bathroom. The ambient noise of the club and the muffled conversations from outside the stall make it difficult to identify the person.

In her vulnerable state, uncertainty lingers. The anticipation of who might be entering the bathroom adds a layer of tension to the already overwhelming situation. Natalie, still reeling from the effects of the club environment, awaits a moment of clarity, hoping for the arrival of the person she's been desperately waiting for – Lando.

“Nattie?” Lando’s voice echoes.

“Lando.” She answers, her voice a mix of relief and vulnerability, as she stands up and unlocks the stall door. The door swings open, revealing Lando on the other side. Without hesitation, she instantly falls into his arms.

In the comforting embrace of Lando, Natalie finds a refuge from the chaotic atmosphere of the club. The overwhelming environment fades away as she leans into his support, finding solace in the presence of someone she trusts. The moment becomes a sanctuary, a haven within the confines of the bathroom, as Lando provides the reassurance and care she desperately needs and seeks.

“It’s OK, you’re fine. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” Lando assures her, his words a soothing balm in the midst of her distress.

“Lily.” Natalie breathes, a momentary worry for her friend surfacing.

“She’s fine. Oscar’s with her.” Lando explains, offering reassurance about Lily's well-being. The information helps alleviate a layer of concern from Natalie's shoulders. “Were you drinking anything?”

“I literally had a soda.” She responds, clarifying that her condition isn't a result of alcohol consumption.

“Come, let’s get out of here.” Lando tells her, offering his assistance.

Lando helps her out of the bathroom, guiding her through the club towards the exit. The chaotic environment of the club begins to fade as they step outside, the cool night air providing a stark contrast to the disorienting atmosphere they leave behind.

Lando lays Natalie down on his bed, the dim light of the room casting a subdued glow. Her skirt rides up her thighs, a subtle detail that goes unnoticed in the urgency of the moment. The priority is her well-being, and he positions her comfortably on the bed.

“Someone was touching me.” Natalie mumbles, her voice carrying the weight of the distressing memory, the unwanted contact leaving an unsettling mark on the night.

“Do you remember who?” Lando asks, his concern evident in his voice, as he pours her a glass of water. Natalie shakes her head in response, the memory too blurred or perhaps too traumatic to recall with clarity.

Lando takes the glass from Natalie, placing it gently on the bedside table. The soft glow of the room accentuates the concern etched on his face as he turns his attention back to her. With a gentle touch, he starts undoing her shoes, his movements deliberate and careful. Natalie watches him closely, her eyes hardly blinking, the vulnerability of the situation reflected in her gaze.

As he finishes with her shoes, Lando places them on the floor, a silent acknowledgment of the need for comfort in that moment. Natalie, feeling a mix of emotions, sits up on the bed. The room holds a quiet intimacy, a space where unspoken connections unfold beyond the scripted dynamics of their "fake dating" arrangement.

In a gesture of trust, she reaches for Lando's hands, her fingers intertwining with his. Without uttering a word, she guides his hands to her thighs, a silent plea for reassurance and understanding. Lando, sensing the unspoken vulnerability, meets her gaze, his touch becoming a source of comfort and support.

“He kept touching me here.” She explains, guiding Lando's hands to the area on her thighs where the unwanted contact occurred. “And, when I asked him to stop, he just kept his hands there.”

Lando's expression shifts from concern to shock, the weight of the revelation hitting him. The room becomes charged with a mix of emotions, and he feels a surge of protective anger for Natalie. Yet, he remains composed, recognizing the importance of being a source of support for her in this vulnerable moment.

Natalie, her eyes peering up at Lando, holds his hands firmly on her thighs as if seeking solace and reassurance. Her hands then travel up his arms, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort she finds in his touch. Natalie wraps her arms tightly around Lando, seeking solace and strength in the warmth of the embrace.

“You came for me.” She breathes, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

“I’ll always come when you call.” Lando assures her, his commitment evident in his words. He quickly removes his hands from her thighs, respecting her boundaries, and wraps them around her in a comforting embrace. “I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

Natalie pulls away from Lando, her hands cupping his face as she frowns deeply, her gaze fixed on his eyes. The room seems to hold its breath, the intensity of the moment palpable as unspoken emotions pass between them.

“I want to kiss you.” Natalie whispers, her admission hanging in the air.

“Then kiss me.” Lando whispers back, his response laced with a quiet intensity.

“I vomited, Lando, I don’t think that’s very hot.” She states, suddenly sober enough to be more aware of herself and her body.

“You’re hot no matter what.” He continues to whisper, his words carrying a genuine warmth and reassurance.

As Natalie feels her heart pounding, a mixture of uncertainty and desire, she grapples with the need to kiss Lando. Seeking reassurance or perhaps a shield against the unexpected sparks, she contemplates the excuse of being drugged. With a flutter of anticipation, her eyes shift between his ocean blue eyes, searching for answers.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, she presses her lips to his in a moment that transcends the boundaries of their scripted relationship. Pulling him closer by his shirt, he lays on top of her. However, the sparks she hoped to avoid are unmistakably present, and the flutters in both of their stomachs reveal a connection that defies the logic of their staged dynamic.

Lando, feeling a mixture of flustered emotions and shyness, breaks the kiss and gets up. The charged atmosphere between them lingers in the room, their connection palpable even in the aftermath of the intimate moment. The unspoken tension and the sudden shift in dynamics leave a subtle air of vulnerability in the space they once shared. Lando, still flustered and recognizing the complex nature of the moment, gently communicates his reservations.

“I can't do this when you're not fully sound of mind.” Lando explains gently, a note of concern in his voice, as he covers her with a blanket.

“I'm sorry.”Natalie apologises, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, her deepest desires laid bare in that moment.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Lando quickly assures her. “It's not that I don't want to, I just respect you too much to do anything you might regret or not even remember in the morning.”

Lando scoots in beside her under the blanket, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“I need to change.” Natalie grunts, attempting to change the subject. “I can still smell the club on me.”

“I've got some spare clothes for you.” Lando informs her, a considerate gesture that reflects his caring nature.

He hastily gets up and retrieves a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from his suitcase, laying them down on the bed next to her as she sits up to meet his gaze.

“You can shower in the morning.” He adds, offering practical advice in the midst of the unfolding situation.

He looks around the room trying to figure out where to turn so she can change out of her clothes. He moves towards the window, but her reflection still persists. As Natalie struggles with the knots on her top, she calls for his help.

“Lando.” She calls out. “I need help getting out of this top. Heaven knows why I wore something with so many knots. Please, Lan.”

Lando's knees buckle slightly at her pleas. He whips around and moves to sit behind her on the bed, gently undoing the many knots that keep her shirt on her body. In a fleeting moment, Lando presses a tender kiss on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that tonight.” He whispers as the shirt cascades down her upper body.

Her hand reaches back, pulling Lando against her leaving his face nestled in her neck. It's not long before he presses more tender kisses against the skin of her neck, each touch eliciting a response from her as her body relaxes under his tender caresses.

“You're making it difficult to stop kissing you.” He tells her as his lips leave her skin, his saliva leaving a string connected to his lips and her neck.

“We don't have to do anything. Just kiss me, Lan.” She pleads, her desire for intimacy and connection evident in her words.

Once again, Lando's body responds to her pleas. He grabs his shirt, covering her exposed chest, and deftly pulls her into his lap, his movements both gentle and purposeful. As he unzips her skirt, she lifts herself slightly, allowing him to pull it down. His attention is momentarily diverted to the lacy black panties covering her, a detail that doesn't escape his notice. His breathing quickens as he redirects his focus to pulling the sweatpants onto her hips. His warm and reassuring touch grazes over her skin, creating a connection that transcends the physicality of the moment.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions and desires, Natalie finds herself grappling with the paradox of desperately needing Lando's touch after the distressing events at the club. Once she's fully clothed again, Lando's hands rest on her hips, and his lips quickly find their way back to her neck. She grabs his hands, intertwining her fingers with his in a silent gesture of connection.

“You make me feel safe.” She admits, her vulnerability laid bare as she rests her back against his chest. “I don't think I've ever felt this safe before.”

The confession sends a rush through Lando's heart, his feelings for her becoming more evident.

“I'll make sure no one ever touches you like that again.” Lando promises with a determination in his voice that reflects a newfound sense of protectiveness.

“You can't promise that.” She warns him, a note of realism in her words.

“I know, but I can't let that happen ever again. Not to you. Not while I'm alive.” He asserts, his commitment to her safety unwavering. Again, Natalie reaches back, gently grasping his curly hair.

“I don't deserve you. Or your protection. Never mind your affection.” She quickly tells him, guilt settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Nattie, you need to get some sleep.” Lando gently changes the subject, his concern for her well-being taking precedence. The room, filled with unspoken emotions and shared vulnerability, becomes a haven for their evolving connection, navigating the intricate balance between protection, affection, and the complexities of genuine intimacy.

- THE NEXT MORNING -

Natalie wakes to the disconcerting emptiness of the bed, the lingering warmth replaced by a noticeable chill. The room, once a cocoon of shared emotions and intimacy, now feels oddly vacant. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, realizing that Lando is no longer beside her. The echoes of the previous night's events resurface, and a sense of solitude settles in.

With a sigh, Natalie rises from the bed and glances around the room, as if hoping to find some sign of Lando's presence. However, the reality of the empty and cold bed becomes undeniable. Determined to move forward, she gathers her belongings and makes her way back to her own hotel room.

The familiar routine of showering and changing into her uniform serves as a grounding process, a way to wash away the remnants of the night and prepare for the day ahead. Despite the emotional undercurrents, Natalie remains focused on her responsibilities and professional duties.

“She was drugged and assaulted, Dad, I have to find out who did that.” Lando explains earnestly to his father over the phone. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily in his voice, a determined resolve to seek justice evident in his words. “Even if she can’t remember anything, I won’t forget hearing the panic in her voice or seeing it in her eyes when I found her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that scared.”

“I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s not going to be cheap, son.” His dad offers a pragmatic response, acknowledging the challenging path ahead.

“I’ll pay whatever I need to. I just want to make sure this never happens to her again.” Lando asserts, his commitment to Natalie's well-being unwavering. The sincerity in his voice echoes his determination to protect her and bring those responsible to justice.

As he concludes the conversation with his father, the elevator doors open to reveal Natalie walking out, dressed in her McLaren uniform. The juxtaposition of her professional attire against the backdrop of the distressing events from the night before adds a layer of complexity to the moment. Lando, his gaze fixed on her, stands as a silent sentinel, ready to support her through the challenges that lie ahead.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Lando greets her with genuine warmth as he pulls her into a hug, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten. The embrace, a testament to their connection, carries a sense of reassurance that transcends the public setting of the hotel lobby.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” She asks as she peers up at him.

“You looked like you needed all the rest you could get.” He tells her. “How are you feeling?”

“Still not very good.” She informs him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she peers up at him. “I’m sorry I overstepped some boundaries last night.”

“Stop apologising. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lando quickly assures her, pulling her closer to him. “Come, let’s go before we’re late.”

Lando takes the lead, guiding Natalie out of the hotel lobby and towards the waiting car. Gallantly, he opens the car door for her, a small gesture that speaks volumes about his consideration and attentiveness. With a helping hand, he ensures she's comfortably settled into the car before jogging around to the driver's side.

As he slips into the driver's seat, the subtle tension in the air doesn't escape him. Natalie shifts in her seat, unintentionally exposing more of her skin beneath the black skirt. The effect is not lost on Lando, and he can't help but feel a surge of desire tempered by the reminder that their connection, despite its genuine nature, is confined to the boundaries of a "fake relationship."

He glances at her, the internal conflict reflected in his eyes. The developing feelings he harbours for Natalie are undeniable, yet the constraints of their fabricated dynamic weigh heavily on him. The paradox of their situation—where emotions feel authentically real despite the artificial framework—creates a complex interplay between desire and restraint.

Lando clenches the steering wheel, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. Despite the unspoken connection and shared sentiments, he acknowledges the need for caution. The reminder that they're still navigating the intricacies of their "fake relationship" underscores the complexity of their evolving feelings and the delicate balance they must maintain, even as the car pulls away from the hotel, carrying them towards the day's responsibilities.

In the quiet confines of the car, Natalie wrestles with a heavy burden of guilt and shame, the weight of her actions from the night before pressing down on her conscience. The self-awareness of having overstepped boundaries looms over her, casting a shadow on the carefully crafted arrangement she shares with Lando. This internal struggle exacerbates the emotional turmoil that had unfolded in the wake of the distressing events.

She grapples with the realisation that her intentional actions, fueled by a surge of emotions and desire, stand in stark contrast to the carefully delineated boundaries of their "fake relationship." The self-imposed rules that were meant to prevent precisely this kind of emotional entanglement now feel flimsy and inadequate. Natalie understands that her actions were not influenced by the trauma of being drugged and assaulted; instead, they were deliberate choices made in the heat of the moment, even when they felt extreme.

As the car moves through the city, Natalie's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery, but her mind is entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. She grapples with the fear of jeopardising what they have, knowing that her intentional breach of boundaries threatens the fragile balance they've maintained.

Lando glances over at Natalie, who appears lost in her thoughts, a visible tension etched on her face. Sensing her inner turmoil, he offers a soft reassurance, the hum of his voice a comforting melody in the quiet confines of the car.

“You can relax, Nattie.” Lando suggests gently, his words carrying an undertone of understanding and empathy.

“It feels so silly being this embarrassed by everything I said. And, everything I did.” Natalie whispers as she turns to look at him.

“It's not silly at all.” He says, his voice carrying a warmth that seeks to alleviate her embarrassment. “We all have moments where emotions take over, especially in situations like last night. You don't need to feel ashamed. And, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t uncomfortable with anything you said or did. I was a willing participant.”

Sensing Natalie's blush and the lingering unease, Lando responds with a comforting touch. He places a hand on her exposed knee, the soft squeeze conveying a sense of reassurance and understanding. The tactile gesture seeks to bridge any emotional distance that might still exist, offering a silent affirmation of his earlier words.

The air in the car takes on a charged energy as Natalie feels Lando's hand gradually travelling further up her thigh, coming to rest just in front of her skirt's hem. Her gaze drops to his hand, studying the subtle movements, and a sense of tension intertwines with the palpable smugness emanating from him.

She bites the inside of her cheek, a conscious effort to stifle the conflicting emotions stirring within her. The rational part of her mind insists that this is all part of the show, a performance for the public eye. Yet, beneath the surface, a more visceral desire simmers, whispering a longing that transcends their scripted roles.

Deep down, Natalie finds herself yearning for a connection that surpasses the confines of their "fake relationship." The forbidden fantasy of straddling him in the McLaren and feeling his hands exploring every contour of her body ignites a subtle heat within her.

It's almost as if Lando senses the undercurrents of her thoughts, his hand daringly creeping slightly higher, fingers slipping just beneath the edge of her skirt. The atmosphere in the car becomes charged with a subtle electricity as Natalie and Lando tiptoe on the edge of desire and restraint.

“Don’t crash the car, Norris.” Natalie whispers, a teasing edge in her voice, as Lando's pinky grazes a sweet spot on her inner thigh.

“Tell me to stop.” Matching her tone, Lando responds in a low whisper.

“Lando.” She moans softly as if the whole world could hear her at that moment. “You have to stop.”

As they navigate through the track's parking lot, Lando withdraws his hand, subtly acknowledging Natalie's unspoken request for a pause in their earlier interaction. The transition is seamless as he assists her out of the car, their movements synchronised in the midst of the flashing cameras capturing their every step.

Entering the building together, Lando takes her hand once more, a silent reassurance that transcends the performative nature of their public appearances. The connection between them persists as they move through the passages, reaching an elevator where they wait side by side.

A mischievous smirk graces Natalie's face as she presses her crotch against Lando's knuckles in the crowded elevator. The subtle exchange of desire unfolds amid the bustling surroundings. Lando, glancing down at her, licks his lips, fully aware of the charged atmosphere between them.

- LATER THAT DAY -

The atmosphere in Lando's driver's room is filled with the echoes of the commentary from the garage as Natalie diligently works on her tablet. The room exudes a sense of focused anticipation, resonating with the energy of the Formula 1 world. Lando, returning after a session that showcased his skill on the track, enters the room, his body radiating heat and sweat from the demanding laps.

Spotting Natalie sitting on the massage table, engrossed in her work, he can't help but appreciate the contrast between her focused professionalism and the intensity of the racing environment. Closing the door behind him, Lando begins to strip off his race suit, the sound of the zipper punctuating the room.

The juxtaposition between Lando's physical exertion on the track and Natalie's composed demeanour creates a dynamic scene, embodying the different facets of the Formula 1 world—from the adrenaline-fueled races to the behind-the-scenes moments of preparation. As Lando sheds the remnants of the intense session, the room becomes a canvas where the lines between performance and reality blur, setting the stage for the intricate dance they navigate within the fast-paced world of Grand Prix racing.

“Excuse me, you could ask me to leave while you change.” Natalie mumbles as she avoids making eye contact, or any contact with his tanned body, as he takes off his race suit and puts on a new, fresher one.

“But, you’re my girlfriend.” He complains and makes his way between her legs. He removes the tablet from her hands and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Seriously, are you OK?”

“I’m feeling better.” She assures him, hesitantly looking into his eyes. “And, before I dare forget. Thank you again for coming to my aid last night.”

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

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