#data analyst problems

[leiflitter]

I am in Microsoft exHell

[poddar123]

How to Progress ahead with Mathematics?

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNDONE I.

A/N: i've started like 3 wips these past weeks but finally finished one! so here is some boss!harry for you, let me know if you want more of it, bc i feel like i could def add to this story!

WORD COUNT: 8.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with Y/N. The only problem is that he is her boss, so he keeps this obsession to himself. But everything changes after one drunken night.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has a love-hate relationship with the glass-walled meeting rooms in the office. Aesthetically they are bringing that well-known, usual vibe of every corporate office, nothing new, nothing unusual. Often, he is irritated that people tend to peek inside as they walk past towards the coffee machine or the restroom. He knows it’s second nature, they don’t necessarily try to intrude, but it tends to frustrate him when he is in the middle of a meeting and a random guy is just staring him down from outside. He tried to get the glass covered, but HR declined, they said something about transparency that just pissed Harry off even more, then he just gave up.

But lately, there’s been an advantage of those see-through dividers, because if people from outside can see in, that means Harry can see everything and everyone outside.

Like right now, as he is sitting by the oval table, laptop in front of him while the lawyers are talking about all the legal documents that are needed for their next deal, it’s an important step and Harry is usually great at focusing on what matters, but today his attention is somewhere else.

Outside of the meeting room, right by Y/N’s desk. 

She is the latest addition in the department, a talented analyst who joined a little over three months ago. Harry knows she is great, because he was there at her interview. He is usually not one to attend interviews, but the hiring manager got sick and they needed someone from management to be there as well and Harry had a spare hour he wanted to use to get a little ahead on that tender he’d been working on, but that got thrown right out the window. 

It was the last thing he wanted to do, listen to some random analyst who probably never even saw a DWH system, they always think they are qualified to deal with anything, but then they see just how much data they need to work with and then freak out. Harry was convinced it would happen that time too, but he was wrong.

Y/N walked in there, seemingly nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan, looking like a frightened little rabbit, so innocent, so sweet, something surprising happened. 

Harry was in awe. 

He found himself being drawn towards her, interested in how she’d perform at the interview. He kept a straight face as the recruiter beside him asked her some basic questions and then he took over for the professional part. 

He gave her his hardest questions, things even seniors might not know, he quizzed her about topics that are way too specific to work around and… she excelled. She couldn’t answer every question, but she worked up a logic she would use to at least try to tackle the matter and Harry knew she would succeed if she had the right materials. 

She blew his mind away. Once she left, he turned to the recruiter and said:

“I want her. Get her to start next week.”

And she did. Next monday, she was holding her onboarding package, eyes bright as she got seated at her desk, ready to start working. 

Now she is sitting at the same spot, wearing her blue light glasses, her eyebrows slightly furrowed behind them as she is working on something on her computer. She is wearing a long sundress today with a yellow cardigan to cover her shoulders. Harry has noted her colorful outfits every morning when she strolled into the office, brightening the otherwise dull atmosphere. It’s a whole floor full of developers, analysts and other IT professionals, they are not known for their exquisite fashion taste, but Y/N is different. Her wardrobe is full of colors and pieces others wouldn’t consider as business casual, but somehow she always makes it work. 

She is the kind of person that has a nice word for everyone, she often brings coffee to Linda, whose desk is across from hers and they usually have lunch together, Harry has noted. She is always happy to help others, she is great at seeing problems differently and quick to come up with solutions. She is definitely a favorite among her colleagues.

Unlike Harry.

Not that he wants to be liked, he is head of IT, he needs to lead, keep everything under control and make hard decisions. He is not stupid, Harry knows most people in the department fear him, he is not known for being friendly and chatty. He usually has so much work he doesn’t have time left to get a coffee with anyone, not that he would have anyone to invite. He is the gruff boss who is always busy and people try not to cross paths with. 

He doesn’t mind it. He likes to be focused on his work and most people don’t realize how hard it is to be the one to decide about budget cuts, downsizing and restructuring, because they don’t see what goes down behind these decisions, they just want to blame someone and that’s usually him. They don’t want to be friends with the big boss who fired their work bestie, even if it was a known fact they never did their job.

It was never an issue for him how his employees saw him. Until her. 

Someone stops by Y/N’s desk and he watches her face light up as she gives them her attention. He can’t hear what she is saying, but when she laughs, it rings in his ears. He loves hearing her laugh.

“So what do you think?” one of the lawyers asks him and he snaps back, realizing he has no idea what they were talking about in the last five minutes. He quickly looks down at his notes so far, but there’s no use. 

“Uh, I’ll leave it to you. I have to go now, do you think you can have everything set by the end of next week? We need it for the next sprint.”

“Sure,” the guy nods, his name is something with a J, but Harry can’t remember what it is. 

He is relieved that he could dodge admitting he has no idea what was talked about, shutting his laptop he murmurs a thank you for the group and he is the first one to walk out of the room, heading towards his office. 

Y/N is not at her desk when he walks past and he looks for her, hoping he is not too obvious, but he sees no trace of her. Is she having coffee with that guy who walked up to her desk? Are they planning something outside of work? Does he want to date her?

Harry’s thoughts are racing as he closes the door behind him, shutting out the general buzz of the open office outside. With a sigh, he sits down in his chair, places his laptop onto the desk, but leaves it unopened for a bit as he rubs his face with his hands. 

He always has control. He plans and keeps himself to his plan, he gathers data, analyses and then makes a new plan. Easy as it is. This is why he likes his job, IT is usually exact, the problem might be deeply hidden, but it’s always exact, he just needs to find the data.

But he’s been feeling chaotic lately. He is disoriented, can’t focus at meetings and finds himself thinking about her when he is supposed to be working. He just can’t help it. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, then rolls his head, his neck cracks and he lets out a groan before opening his laptop and trying his best to get back to working. The code opens in front of him and he focuses on the lines he’s been trying to rewrite, but right when he is about to start typing, there’s a knock on his door. For a second, he feels irritated that he was interrupted again, but then he looks past the screen and sees her.

Harry nods and Y/N walks through the glass door, holding her laptop to her chest, smiling shyly. Harry likes to think that this smile is for him only, that he is the reason to bring it to her lips, though he doubts he has such an effect on her. But still, it’s a nice thought. 

“Hey,” he greets her as she crosses the room and sits across from him. 

“Hi. Am I disturbing you?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“I finished those tables you asked for yesterday, but I wanted to run a few things with you.”

“You… finished?” he asks as Y/N unfolds her laptop, nodding. 

“Yeah.” She places the laptop onto his desk and he leans closer, focusing on the screen as Y/N explains what she found unclear, but Harry is still stunned when she is done talking.

“Is it… Is it bad? Not what you thought of?” she asks, seeing his face.

“No, it’s… Y/N, you did this all by yourself?”

“Yes?” Her answer sounds unsure and panic settles in her visibly. “I-I’m sorry if it’s–”

“Y/N, this is brilliant.”

She is taken aback by his compliment, it wasn’t the first time, but it feels like a gift every time for her. 

“It is?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t doubt you could do it, but I didn’t think it would turn out this great and you also finished so fast, I thought it would take you the entire week at least.”

“Well… I did stay in a little longer last night,” she admits with a soft chuckle and it tugs on his chest right away. He looks at her over the desk, their eyes meet and for a second, warmth spreads through his veins as he fights the urge to reach out and touch her. 

Clearing his throat he leans back in his chair.

“Send it over, I’ll leave comments on those sections and then you can start the migration.”

“Thank you,” she nods, taking her laptop and heading to the door.

“And well done, Y/N,” he calls after her. She just nods and smiles at him before walking out. 

Harry watches her return to her desk, takes some deep breaths and forces himself to return to the code on his own computer. 

***

Linda wiggles her eyebrows at Y/N once she is sat at her desk. 

“Did you two eye-fuck again?” she asks and Y/N gapes at her, quickly looking around to see if anyone heard her, but luckily, everyone is too busy.

“Linda! That’s–We don’t do that.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, twirling her pen around between her fingers. 

“We just went over the tables. He said I did a good job.” She shrugs, but Linda doesn’t miss how the corners of her mouth curl up, though she tries to hide it. 

“You do realize you’re the only one in this whole department he has ever complimented, right?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Zach go the best reaction from him last spring, when he spent two weeks refactoring a fucked up code, Harry said it was acceptable. That’s all. The fact that he said you did a good job is just another proof that he is into you.”

“Would you stop talking about the head of IT being into me?” Y/N hisses. “Come on, let’s get a coffee before you start screaming it.”

They go down a floor where the coffee station has better options and once they both have a mug full of coffee, they settle by a high table in the common area. 

“I have a confession to make,” Y/N admits, but avoids looking her in the eyes. “Okay, go for it.”

“I’m meeting Archer today.”

“Y/N! Not your fucking ex! Why?!” Linda gasps. “Do you really hate yourself that much?”

“I don’t hate myself,” she gives her a look, before returning her gaze to her mug. “He texted me the other day.”

“And you texted him back?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Boo! You should have blocked his number a long time ago!”

Y/N has thought about that. A lot. Her asshole ex has come back a couple of times since they broke up about a year ago, they shared one or two nights, but it always ended with him disappearing and leaving her shattered. His comebacks slowed down the process of getting over him a lot and though she feels like she is finally okay, she couldn’t just ignore his text.

“That’s not like me,” she shrugs, ignoring the thought that she knows Linda is right. 

“Hun, what do you think will happen today that hasn’t happened before?”

The question stings, right in her chest, because she knows it’s true. Her logical side knows Archer won’t just magically apologize for the way he treated her, even though it’s the only thing she wants from him at this point. To admit that he was in the wrong. 

“We’ll talk. That’s it.”

“Please don’t sleep with him,” Linda sighs desperately. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

“I won’t,” she says, though she is not entirely certain it’s the truth. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” Linda checks the time on her phone. “I gotta go, I have a meeting in ten.”

“I’m coming too, I have a lot to do.”

Grabbing their mugs they head out of the common area, back to the upper floor. 

***

Harry didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He is the last person to be interested in anyone’s private life in the office. 

But when he heard Y/N’s voice as he was about to walk into the room, he stopped and hid behind the wall, listening to a conversation that was truly not meant for his ears. 

Hearing the two women talk about Y/N’s ex has ignited something new in him, especially when it became clear that he has hurt her in the past. Harry is not one to become violent, he channels all his tendencies in the gym while boxing, but from what he heard of the guy, he would have gladly punched him in the face. A few times.

Maybe more than a few.

The short conversation tickled his curiosity about what happened, but when he heard that they were about to leave, he quickly walked away so they didn’t see him. 

Now as he is back by his desk he can’t focus on the code in front of him at all, his thoughts are only about this mysterious ex Y/N is apparently meeting today. At one point, he even considers giving her some extra work to keep her in late and preferably miss the meeting, but that would be too petty even for him. Instead, he spends the next hour pretending to work while he just keeps fantasizing about different scenarios of what happened between Y/N and the guy. 

Slowly, the office starts to empty out as the end of the day nears. Desks get abandoned, lights are turned off and Harry is still there, since he barely got anything done that day. 

He sees when Y/N packs up her stuff and leaves and his jaw almost breaks as he holds himself still and just watches her walk out. 

“I’m fucking insane,” he mumbles under his breath, willing himself to do some work now that he can’t get distracted by Y/N every time she leaves her desk. 

It’s all new to him. This obsession he’s been feeling since the moment he saw Y/N at the interview. An invisible string has been pulling him towards her and it’s unlike anything he has felt with his exes before. 

He wasn’t obsessed. He didn’t think of them all the time. He didn’t lose focus when he was seeing someone. But with Y/N, he is losing his precious control and it’s almost scary. 

He finally manages to lock in for some work and time flies by. Next time he looks up from his screen the whole office is empty, only his desk lamp giving light and the green haze of the exit signs. It’s past nine and he can hear the cleaner vacuuming somewhere on the floor, so with a tired smile he shuts his computer off, gathers his things and heads out. 

He moved less than a year ago and the place he bought is within walking distance of the office. He knows it might have been a stupid idea to get a place just because it’s close to his working place, he probably won’t work there his whole life, but he doesn’t see himself switching for a long time, so it’s convenient. 

With his backpack hanging off one shoulder he steps out into the warm evening, the afternoon rush is over, now the nearby bars and restaurants are full of workers desperately needing to let some steam off before heading home. 

There’s a small park he walks through before reaching his street and it has always been dear to him, a nice change in the scenery of concrete and glass in the middle of the city. There’s even a small pond along the path that takes him across the park with benches and a handful of ducks are usually circling in the water peacefully. 

Older people from around like to come here and sit or take a short walk and they are the only people Harry likes to watch. He admires their slow pace, no rush, just enjoying what they have, a state he dreams of reaching too. 

Tonight, as he passes by the pond his eyes spot a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches. He stops in his tracks, questioning if his sight is right, because the person sitting there with her head hanging low looks just like Y/N. As he slowly approaches he notices the soft shaking of her shoulders.

She’s crying. 

***

Y/N has been sitting on that bench for… God knows how long. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. She was planning to cry her eyes out at once, then move on by the time she gets home, but apparently, she needs more time to get herself over than she estimated. This spot seemed like a great one, it’s far enough from the lights so people don’t notice she is crying, but she definitely did not expect to be noticed by her boss.

“Y/N?”

Harry’s voice makes her jump and as her head snaps up, she finds herself staring up at the person she least expected to see. His eyebrows are furrowed, concern is written all over his face as he stands a few feet away from the bench, as if he can’t tell if it’s a good idea for him to get closer. 

“Oh, hi!” She quickly forces a smile on her face, but she knows she is fooling no one. She wipes her tear-soaked cheeks with the back of her hand and prays her mascara is not smudged all around her eyes in panda style. “What–What are you doing here?”

“I live nearby, I’m on my way home. What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I was just taking a walk and now I’m… not.”

Her brain does not function. She knows what she said didn’t make any sense, but she can’t think of something else to say. She is way too busy thinking about how Harry is standing right there just after her ex made her wait for him for an hour before texting her he is not coming and when she called him to confront, a woman answered his phone.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to draw the conclusions: Archer was only trying to hook up with her tonight, but apparently found someone else and ditched her. A classic move from an asshole like him, but that doesn’t make her feel less like shit. Mostly because she should have known better and not believe he would do anything other than hurting her. 

Harry just stands there for a few moments and Y/N is expecting him to walk away and pretend like he didn’t even see her, but he surprises her when he walks over to the bench and sits beside her. 

“Do you want to… talk about what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she answers right away, but when she looks at him, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe her. With a sigh, she turns her gaze back towards the pond. She is hesitating between keeping it all to herself or just dumping it on Harry and then deal with the consequences later, but right when she is about to make up her mind, he speaks up.

“Is this about… your ex-boyfriend?”

She turns to him with wide eyes. 

“How do you…”

A guilty look takes over his face before he shrugs.

“I heard you talking about him earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“I shouldn’t talk so freely with Linda in the office,” she chuckles, shaking her head. They sit in silence, when Harry peeks at her she seems deep in her thoughts and he is desperate to get her to talk, but doesn’t want to push her too much. 

As a last resort, he says:

“Do you want to have a drink?”

***

The tequila is burning her throat, she can’t help the frown as she bites into the lemon. When she looks at Harry, she is not even surprised he has the same, unbothered look on his face he had after the previous two shots. 

“Uh, how are you taking it so well?” she coughs and then takes a sip from her beer. They were lucky enough to find a table at a bar nearby and she was quick to accept that maybe getting drunk is what she needs right now, even if the alarms are still going off somewhere in the back of her mind, because doing it with Harry might not be her brightest idea. 

“I guess I still have some left of my college years,” he shrugs and she starts laughing. 

“Don’t tell me you were a party animal in college,” she snorts. The three shots and half a beer has definitely set her tongue free and took away her sense of embarrassment after saying everything that’s on her mind. She will surely regret it in the morning, but right now she couldn’t care less.

Harry likes this version of her. She is always bubbly and talkative, but in his presence he often senses her nervousness. Now there’s no trace of that and he is sinking in every moment of it.

“What do you think I was like in college?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, the words slurring a bit on her tongue. “Like a… hot nerd?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her and she realizes only then that she just called him hot. 

“I-I mean… I don’t–What I meant is–”

“I was a nerd,” he says, saving her from her rambling. “I was in the robotics club, spent a lot of time in the library, trying to hack their system so I didn’t have to return some books I wanted to keep.”

She can’t help, but laugh as Harry is smiling at the memory as well.

“Did you succeed?”

“What do you think?”

“For sure.”

“Correct,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his beer. “But I went to parties. I had this friend group from highschool, some of them were friends with the popular kids so we were always invited.”

“I can’t picture you with a red solo cup, filled with cheap booze.”

“But it happened,” he chuckles. “Luckily, photos have been deleted from social media.”

“Did you wipe the internet?” she asks, leaning closer as if she was asking him about a secret.

“No, but I did message those who had the photos posted when I was getting higher in my career.”

“Clever,” she nods and grabbing her beer, she takes a few swigs. Then her smile fades. “Maybe I should tell you what happened, right?”

“Only if you want to.”

Sighing she leans back, pursing her lips as she squints her eyes, looking back at him. She can’t think straight. Her thoughts are jumping, one moment she is thinking about Archer, the next all her attention is on how plump his lips look when they are wet from the beer, or the way his top two buttons of his shirt have come undone and she is seeing fucking tattoos, along his collarbones. 

She wants to kiss them. 

“I was stupid enough to think that I matter to him and he wouldn’t… hurt me. But he did. That’s it, lesson learned.”

She would love to look unbothered, like it doesn’t affect her, but she can’t. Her throat is closing up and when Harry calls out her name softly, she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and wobbling lips. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying, I know. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry shakes his head, but it’s like she didn’t even hear him.

“I know it’s stupid, but I just thought it might be different this time, that he might apologize and I can finally… I don’t know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s not. You’re allowed to hope, to want to be treated the right way.”

“But I should have learned my lesson before!”

“You could have, but it’s okay. You will now. You’re smart, smarter than you think. You’ll get over it, doesn’t matter how long it takes, you will get there. I know it.”

“How?” she asks in a whisper, unable to break the eye-contact. 

“I don’t know how you’ll do it, but–”

“No,” she shakes her head. “How do you know it?”

He slowly runs his tongue over his lips, thinking his words through before speaking them.

“I just do. Do you believe me?”

Without hesitation she nods.

“I do.”

***

“If someone said one day I would be waiting for an Uber with my boss, drunk out of my ass at two am, I would have laughed them in the face.”

Y/N is holding onto a lamp post with one hand, twirling around it like a little kid as Harry stands by the curb, one hand in his pocket, the other one holding his phone, tracking the Uber that’s supposed to pick Y/N up and take her home. He is watching her with a tiny smile, it’s great to see her so carefree after her breakdown earlier. 

“Which part is so unbelievable?” 

She stops and steps closer to him. She can’t stand still, keeps shifting her weight between her feet and Harry is on alert in case she loses her balance. 

“All of it,” she grins up at him, blinking lazily. “Except the drunk out of my ass. That happens sometimes.”

“Really?” 

“Ooh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Am I in trouble?”

“Because you get drunk sometimes? You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, but… you’re my boss,” she giggles, then starts swaying as if she could hear some music. “It’s not professional to get drunk.”

“Not when you’re working. But you’re not at work right now.”

“Nope,” she shakes her head, popping the ‘p’ sound. “I’m on the street, with Harry Styles, after drinking with Harry Styles! And now I’m gonna go home in an Uber that Harry Styles ordered for me!”

“Are you enjoying saying my name?” he chuckles, glancing at his phone again, The car is five minutes away. He is already dreading the moment it arrives, because that means the night ends. But he knows she has to get home and sleep it off.

“I do,” she sings. “It has a nice ring to it. It’s a cool name for a cool guy.”

“Oh, so I’m cool?” He knows he shouldn’t take advantage of her drunken state and keep her talking, but he just can’t get himself to stop.

“Yeah. You’re cool and smart and scary sometimes and mysterious, but not tonight,” she giggles as she keeps swaying around, while Harry can’t take his eyes off her, not when she is talking about him. “People at the office are scared of you, but I think you’re great.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re amazing, I always look forward to seeing you. Sometimes I…” She giggles at whatever she is thinking about, completely oblivious at how intently Harry is listening to her. “Sometimes I ask you about things I know just so we can talk.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, but it’s enough for her to lose balance.

She gasps when she starts falling, but he is quick to grab her by her arms, yanking her towards him to keep her from smashing against the concrete. She is not laughing anymore, especially when she realizes that her chest is pressed against his, hands still holding her arms firmly. And his eyes are piercing into her gaze in a way that takes her breath away. 

“I love when you come asking questions,” he admits. “That’s usually my favorite part of the day.”

Her eyes widen at his words and when his gaze shifts down to her lips, they part as she gasps for air. Her chest presses even more against his as she fills her lungs and she feels even more dizzy now than before. 

“I want to kiss you.”

The words blurt out of her before she could think them through, unaware of the effect they have on Harry. His gaze darkens and it moves down at her lips again. But before he could say or do anything, the Uber pulls up beside them. 

Harry lets go of her, then opens the door.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She blinks at him a few times as he just stands there, waiting for her to get inside. She is confused. Drunk and tired and the longer she stays there the more awkward she feels, so she finally gets into the car, then Harry shuts the door and the car starts moving. 

Y/N turns around and sees him still standing there, hands in his pockets, his head hanging low. Then she slides down in the seat, closes her eyes and then replays those couple of moments when she was pressed up against him over and over again until the car stops at her apartment building. 

***

Sunday evening Y/N contemplates calling in sick. Preferably with something that keeps her away from the office… forever. 

Once she woke in the afternoon of Saturday, sobered up, with a killer headache, memories from last night came crashing down on her and the embarrassment took over instantly. She spent the rest of the weekend in agony, cursing herself out for being so stupid. 

Did she really tell her boss she wanted to kiss him?

Yes, she in fact did. After getting drunk with him, crying about her ex and telling him all kinds of stuff she never planned on admitting to him. Like that she finds him cool and smart and sometimes scary. 

But the kissing part is obviously the worst.

No matter how badly she dreads Monday morning, time doesn’t stop or slows down, the week starts and she has to go to work and face the consequences of her actions. 

Maybe Harry won’t be there. But he is always there. 

Maybe she can hide all day and avoid him… until the rest of her life or until she finds a new job. Very unlikely, but whatever. 

Her palms are sweating as she swipes her card at the gates and heads up to her floor. She’s getting paranoid, thinking that everyone in the elevator knows what happened on Friday, even though no one even bats an eye in her direction. 

Luckily, as she logs into her computer at her desk, work swamps her and provides enough distraction to stop her from throwing up when she sees Harry for the first time.

It seems like he is having a busy day too, he is in and out of meetings for the most part of the noon, she only sees him passing by or sitting in his office with his AirPods in, a sign that he is in an online meeting. But even when he is free for a short time, Y/N makes sure she avoids facing him. She even considers moving to another floor’s common room with her laptop for the day if it means she can survive without running into him and God forbid, talking to him. 

But then comes an email. 

It’s a bit after lunch time when it pops up in her inbox and her stomach drops to the floor right away when she sees it’s from Harry. Then another wave of anxiety washes over her when she reads it.

FROM: Harry Styles

Come to my office at your earliest convenience. -H

“Oh shit,” she mumbles under her breath and it catches Linda’s ears across from her, who gives her a questioning look. “Nothing.” She just shakes her head, grabs her laptop and then heads to Harry’s office with shaking knees. 

Is this the part where he tells her behavior was unacceptable? Did he maybe report her to HR for what she said?

She knocks on the door with a sweaty hand, Harry looks up from his screen with a blank face and nods at her to go inside. 

“Hey. I got your email.” She sounds like a frightened little girl as she closes the door behind her and stills, hugging her laptop to her chest. 

“Thanks for coming right away.”

Harry pushes his chair back lazily, stands and rounds the desk before leaning against it leisurely, his eyes glued to Y/N who is still standing by the door, too scared to go further. He doesn’t like the distance.

“Come, sit,” he nods towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

Obediently, she walks over and takes a seat, blinking up at him with wide eyes while he looks unbothered and almost… bored. He squints his eyes at her, tilting his head to the side a bit before finally speaking up. 

“Is there a specific reason why you’re avoiding me all day?”

Her lips part at his question and her first instinct is to deny.

“I-I’m not–”

“Y/N, you are. Normally, you would have already asked me at least two questions, but instead you walk out of the office every time I step out of mine. You are avoiding me.”

She shuts her mouth, trying to come up with something to say that could save her, but nothing comes to her mind. 

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze drops to the floor, his stare is too intense for her. “I’m so ashamed about… everything I said on Friday, I didn’t know how to face you. I said all that… inappropriate stuff you definitely shouldn’t have heard. like… ever. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N,” he softly says, but her gaze remains on her shoes. “Y/N, look at me, please.”

Finally, she dares to move her eyes back to meet his and then he continues… in the most surprising way.

“What I’m about to say, it’s going to be fully unrelated to work. Can you treat it as something outside of this setting?” Y/N nods. “Use your words, I need to hear you say it. Do you understand that this conversation is outside of work?”

“I understand,” she answers weakly, her mouth running dry. 

“Good.” He nods and then continues. “Do not feel sorry for anything you said. I’m glad I know all of that. The only downside of it is that now I need every ounce of self-control not to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

This time her mouth hangs open. For a moment she is not entirely convinced she hasn’t just imagined it all. That it wasn’t just her sick mind playing tricks on her. But then he speaks again.

“Did you hear what I said? That I want to fuck you into oblivion on this desk?”

“Yes,” she breathes out, trembling. 

“Good. Now I want you to go back to your desk and think it through whether you want that too or not. If you decide that you feel the same way, stay late and come back here when everyone is gone. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She feels dizzy, but not the same kind she felt on Friday, this is entirely different. Turning around she walks out of the room, but she’s on auto pilot as she returns to her desk. She leans back in her chair and slowly looks around.

No one in the room knows what just happened. Everyone is just minding their own business while Y/N is on the verge of fainting.

“You alright?” Linda peeks out from behind her screen with a concerned look on her face. “What did he want?”

If only she knew! Y/N thinks. She is dying to share, to take the whole conversation apart and analyze every bit, but she can’t. Instead, she forces a smile to her face.

“Just checked in with me about the migration.”

Linda examines her suspiciously for a second, but then her phone rings and she returns to her work while Y/N opens her laptop as well, but as she stares at the document in front of her she was working on before Harry’s email, she can’t even make out a word. 

Instead, she is busy thinking about what happens when the office empties out. 

***

Harry was dragged into some urgent issue sometime in the afternoon and it gave him enough work to take his attention away from prying outside, impatiently waiting for everyone to leave while making sure Y/N is still there. 

He answers one call after the other while emails keep popping into his inbox and he loses track of Y/N. When he finally drags his gaze away from the screen he looks up and finds the whole floor empty. All of it.

Meaning that Y/N left as well. Groaning he stands from his desk and walks over to the window, staring out into the night that has slowly creeped up on him. He truly thought she would stay. That she felt the same desire and thirst as him and she wants to explore whatever it could be, but maybe he read it all wrong. 

How will this affect their work? He should have thought of that before telling her he wants to fuck her on his desk. Who even does that? He is supposed to be her boss, her mentor, this was so incredibly inappropriate, he is thinking about reporting himself to HR and–

There’s a knock on his door. 

Turning around he freezes when he sees Y/N standing there with doe-like eyes and with just one look she is already making his pulse jump. He nods, barely noticeably, but she sees it and lets herself inside, closing the door behind her even though it’s truly just the two of them now. 

“Hey,” she sheepishly says, stopping exactly where she did earlier when he wrote her that email. This time however, Harry is the one to cross the room and then stop just inches away from her. She wonders if he could hear the wild hammering of her heart in her chest, the dizziness is back and she hides her hands behind her back so he doesn’t notice them shaking. 

“Did you think about what I said?”

Harry talks slowly and clearly and she couldn’t tell just moments ago he was freaking out too. But now that she’s there, every racing thought is gone from his mind, all he is thinking about is… her. 

“Yes.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” There’s a tiny bit of sassiness in her tone, just enough to start a fire in him. 

She catches the way one corner of his lips curls up as he takes another small step towards her, his hands come up to cup her jaw on either side and he gently tilts her head back, angling it perfectly. Then slowly, he leans closer until his lips are almost touching hers, but then stops. As if he is giving one last chance for her to change her mind, but she is still there, waiting for him to finally break down the wall between them and he gives in. 

He lets his hunger take over instantly. There’s no testing the waters, feeling each other up, he kisses her in a demanding, needy way that takes her breath away at first, but she is quick to react the same way. 

Her hands move to his shirt, grabbing the fabric at his stomach while his hands are still holding onto her face, but then they slide down her sides, settle on the back of her thighs and she knows exactly what he wants her to do. So without breaking them apart, she jumps up, he catches her with ease as she wraps her legs around his waist and he blindly carries her to the small sofa by the wall. 

He sinks into the cushion and she straddles him, giving her a bit of advantage in height this way, so now he is the one to crane his neck while she is leaning down to meet him. 

It’s a mess, lip biting, tongues crashing, soft moans and grunts, his palms wander over his thighs and ass and then he sneakily peels her soft pink shirt out of her tight jeans so his hands can slip under the fabric and feel her heated skin. 

She is desperate to feel more, to ease the aching throbbing between her legs, so when she starts rolling her hips and grinding against his rapidly growing bulge, he can’t help the moan that slips out of his mouth, right into hers. 

His head drops to the back of the sofa and she takes the chance to kiss her way down the column of his neck. After dozens of fantasies doing the same thing during meetings, now she is finally tasting his skin, gently nibbling on a spot that has his hands grab onto her ass, pushing her even more into him. 

When their lips meet again her fingers dance down his chest, feeling up his abdomen through his shirt and then settle on his belt, she starts undoing it, but he is quick to stop her, which breaks her out of her trance., scared that she did something wrong. 

Reading her from just one look, Harry shakes his head softly.

“I know I said I want to bend you over my desk, but I don’t want the first time I’m inside you to be here. So we are gonna do it differently for now.”

As he speaks, his fingers work the buttons of her shirt, one after the other until the white, lacy bra is revealed underneath. 

“Is it fucking Christmas?” he breathes out, hooking a finger into one of the cups and tugging it down so your breast spills out of it. An airy chuckle slips out of her, but it quickly turns into a gasp when he sucks her pebbled nipple into his mouth, even gently biting and tugging on it. Her fingers comb through his hair, his fingertips massaging his scalp as her grinding continues. 

“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do,” he murmurs against her chest, one hand freeing her other breast from the bra as well, so he can pay equal attention to them both. “You’re gonna grind that needy cunt of yours against me until you come, just so you can see what it is like when you’re not even undressed and imagine what will happen once I get to unwrap you.” He smacks her ass gently, a moan slipping out through her parted lips. “And I’m gonna leave marks all over tits and suck your nipples until they are so tender you can barely touch them, so when you go home and see yourself in the mirror, you’ll remember every moment of what’s happening right now.”

His hands grab her hips and make her roll them harder, his erection and the seam of her jeans rubbing into her soaking wet cunt. She eagerly takes the pace he dictated, desperate to chase her release that’s building in the pit of her stomach rapidly. 

“Do you like that? Do you like my plan?” he asks, his lips brushing against her nipple, teasing her with his touch just enough to make her whine and ache for more. 

“Yes,” he nods eagerly, hands clasping the back of his head to pull him closer to her chest and feel his lips on her heated skin again and he complies happily. 

“Then let me feel how badly you want to come.”

If someone told Y/N in the morning, that tonight she would be dry humping her boss like a horny teenager, she would have checked that person into a mental hospital. Yet here she is, grinding against Harry’s massive bulge, shamelessly rubbing her cunt against his erection while his mouth is full of her breast. 

He has already left a few marks on her and she knows she’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next 2 weeks, but she couldn’t care less. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she cries out when she finds just the right angle where the seam of her jeans and the tip of his restrained cock rub her clit perfectly, sending sparks through her nerves. 

“Go on, want to see you come undone.” He bites the side of her left breast and she hisses, but it feels so good, so fucking great she moans loudly, her head falling back at the sensation.

“Harry, I–Ah!”

His hands grab her ass and he pulls her in, making her fall forward, her chest pressing up against his as she buries her face into his neck, fastening her movements as her orgasm is nearing. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let me see you come undone.”

“Wanna feel you inside,” she whines, but keeps moving.

“I know and you will. Just not now.”

She whines again in a disapproving manner, but doesn’t stop and Harry’s hips start moving as well. He encourages her a few more times, his lips brushing against her ear, sending shivers down her spine and right when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, the bubble pops. 

She gasps and moans, her movements get dragged out and Harry forces her to look him in the eyes as she rides out her joy. She loses track of time, can’t tell if it lasts for seconds or hours. But when it’s over she collapses into his arms. 

“You did so good. So fucking good,” he murmurs into her ear, kissing the side of her face wherever he can reach. When she finally catches her breath she sits up straight and looking down she sees that he’s still hard underneath her. 

Instantly, she reaches down, ready to take him out and take care of him, but he stops her again. 

“Not now.”

“But you�� didn’t–”

“I know,” he smiles softly. “But if we go further now, I won’t be able to stop and I told you, I want the first time I’m inside you in a different setting.”

She understands and it’s flattering knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself if they continued, but it feels unbalanced now that only she came. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, hands flattening on his stomach. 

Smiling, he nods. “Very sure.”

She thinks to herself for a bit and reaching up Harry brushes a lock of hair behind her ear as a smile stretches slowly across her face.

“What is it?”

“So… this means there will be a next time?”

The playful glint in her eyes amuses him. She is sitting on his lap, her chest still exposed, lips swollen from his kisses while his erection is still straining against his pants and she asks if there will be a next time. 

“Oh yeah. I will watch you come undone over and over again in every possible way. If you let me.”

She bites into her bottom lip, sheepishly blinking down at him, but her answer surprises him for a moment.

“I’m not letting you.” His face falls and his heart drops into his stomach, but she is quick to continue: “I’m begging you.”

“Oh baby, for that, now I’m adding  spanking to when I’m bending you over my desk and fuck you.”

Her smile only grows wider.

“Please, Boss!”

PART II.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[river-taxbird]

AI hasn't improved in 18 months. It's likely that this is it. There is currently no evidence the capabilities of ChatGPT will ever improve. It's time for AI companies to put up or shut up.

I'm just re-iterating this excellent post from Ed Zitron, but it's not left my head since I read it and I want to share it. I'm also taking some talking points from Ed's other posts. So basically:

We keep hearing AI is going to get better and better, but these promises seem to be coming from a mix of companies engaging in wild speculation and lying.

Chatgpt, the industry leading large language model, has not materially improved in 18 months. For something that claims to be getting exponentially better, it sure is the same shit.

Hallucinations appear to be an inherent aspect of the technology. Since it's based on statistics and ai doesn't know anything, it can never know what is true. How could I possibly trust it to get any real work done if I can't rely on it's output? If I have to fact check everything it says I might as well do the work myself.

For "real" ai that does know what is true to exist, it would require us to discover new concepts in psychology, math, and computing, which open ai is not working on, and seemingly no other ai companies are either.

Open ai has already seemingly slurped up all the data from the open web already. Chatgpt 5 would take 5x more training data than chatgpt 4 to train. Where is this data coming from, exactly?

Since improvement appears to have ground to a halt, what if this is it? What if Chatgpt 4 is as good as LLMs can ever be? What use is it?

As Jim Covello, a leading semiconductor analyst at Goldman Sachs said (on page 10, and that's big finance so you know they only care about money): if tech companies are spending a trillion dollars to build up the infrastructure to support ai, what trillion dollar problem is it meant to solve? AI companies have a unique talent for burning venture capital and it's unclear if Open AI will be able to survive more than a few years unless everyone suddenly adopts it all at once. (Hey, didn't crypto and the metaverse also require spontaneous mass adoption to make sense?)

There is no problem that current ai is a solution to. Consumer tech is basically solved, normal people don't need more tech than a laptop and a smartphone. Big tech have run out of innovations, and they are desperately looking for the next thing to sell. It happened with the metaverse and it's happening again.

In summary:

Ai hasn't materially improved since the launch of Chatgpt4, which wasn't that big of an upgrade to 3.

There is currently no technological roadmap for ai to become better than it is. (As Jim Covello said on the Goldman Sachs report, the evolution of smartphones was openly planned years ahead of time.) The current problems are inherent to the current technology and nobody has indicated there is any way to solve them in the pipeline. We have likely reached the limits of what LLMs can do, and they still can't do much.

Don't believe AI companies when they say things are going to improve from where they are now before they provide evidence. It's time for the AI shills to put up, or shut up.

[beemovieerotica]

llms don't work that way. all of those redditors are dumb kids who don't know what they're talking about. there are plenty of actual problems and harm with generative ai, please don't just make shit up

[landoughnut]

The Williams Rule

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - carlos sainz x fem!reader

♡ summary - carlos finally wins over the teams chief strategist after way too many attempts asking you out

♡ warnings - simp/desperate/persistant carlos, flluffff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.6k | posting this here because im so sad for Carlos 💔

"No."

"But—"

"Still no."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

You look up from your laptop to find Carlos Sainz giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, leaning against your desk in the Williams garage. It's a look that probably works wonders on most people, but you've built up an immunity. Mostly.

"Let me guess," you say, trying not to smile. "You were about to invite me to dinner. Again."

He grins, unashamed. "Actually, I was going to suggest breakfast this time. You know, mix it up a little."

"Carlos."

"What? Breakfast is very professional. People have business breakfasts all the time."

You give him your best unimpressed look, the one you've perfected after two years as William's chief strategy analyst. "And would this be a business breakfast?"

"It could be," he says hopefully. "We could discuss... race strategy?"

"We do that every day. Right here. In the garage. Where we work."

He drops into the chair beside your desk, and you pretend not to notice how good he looks in his race suit, sleeves tied around his waist. It's unfair, really, how someone can be both adorable and devastatingly handsome at the same time.

"You know," he says conversationally, "most people would be flattered that their driver keeps asking them out."

"Most people don't have to maintain professional relationships with their drivers."

"Ah, but I'm not just any driver. I'm your favorite driver."

You snort. "Charles is my favorite driver."

"You wound me, mi corazón." He clutches his chest dramatically. "After all we've been through?"

"All we've been through is you interrupting my work to ask me out seventeen times—"

"Twenty-three times," he corrects.

"You're keeping count?"

His smile turns softer, more genuine. "Of course I am. I'm hoping you'll say yes before we reach fifty."

Something warm flutters in your chest, but you squash it down. "Carlos..."

"I know, I know. The Williams rule." He sighs. "'No dating within the team.' But rules are made to be broken, no?"

"Says the man who got a penalty last race for track limits."

"That was different! The wind—"

"Sainz!" James' voice cuts through the garage. "Stop distracting my best strategist and get to your engineering briefing!"

Carlos stands with exaggerated reluctance. "This isn't over," he warns you playfully.

"It never is with you," you call after him, fighting a smile as he walks backward, still watching you until he nearly trips over a tire.

Emma, your assistant, slides into the seat Carlos vacated. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "the Williams rule isn't actually written anywhere."

"Don't you start."

"I'm just saying, have you seen the way he looks at you when you're explaining race scenarios? Like you're explaining the secrets of the universe instead of tire degradation data."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "He's just... intense about racing."

"Right. That's definitely it. Nothing to do with how he brings you coffee every morning—"

"He brings the whole strategy team coffee!"

"—or how he only sits next to you in briefings—"

"That's because I give the best feedback!"

"—or how he literally lights up every time you walk into a room."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate you."

"No you don't," she says cheerfully. "You hate that I'm right."

The problem is, she kind of is. You've been fighting this attraction to Carlos since your first day at Williams, when he'd introduced himself by accidentally spilling espresso all over your carefully prepared notes and spent the next hour helping you recreate them, making you laugh despite your initial irritation.

Twenty-three asks later (apparently), and it's getting harder to say no.

Later that afternoon, you're focused on simulation data when a sandwich appears on your desk.

"You missed lunch," Carlos says simply.

You blink at the sandwich, then at him. "I had lunch."

"Coffee is not lunch."

"I'm fine, I'll eat later—"

"You get grumpy when you don't eat properly," he says, pulling up his chair again. "Remember Monaco? When you threw a pen at Alex?"

"He deserved it! He wouldn't stop talking about how cereal is a soup."

Carlos unwraps the sandwich and holds it out expectantly. You take it with a sigh, knowing he won't leave until you eat.

"This doesn't count as a date," you warn him.

His eyes crinkle with amusement. "Sharing a sandwich in the garage while you pretend not to like me? No, this is just Tuesday."

You take a bite to avoid responding, then make an embarrassing sound of appreciation. It's your favorite – prosciutto and mozzarella from that little deli down the street.

"You remembered," you say softly.

"I remember everything about you." He says it so simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Like how you take your coffee, and which pen is your lucky pen, and how you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating really hard..."

"Carlos..."

"And how you always say my name like that when you're trying not to smile."

You throw your napkin at him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Probably." He makes no move to leave. "But I like it here better."

The garage bustles around you, mechanics and engineers going about their work, but somehow Carlos has this way of making it feel like you're in your own little bubble.

"Twenty-four," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

You should say no. You always say no. But...

"Carlos, I—"

"Before you say no," he interrupts quickly, "just... think about it? Really think about it. Because yes, maybe dating within the team is complicated. But isn't everything in F1 complicated? We manage million-dollar cars going three hundred kilometers per hour. We coordinate hundreds of people across different countries. We deal with rain and red flags and rival teams."

He leans forward, and his eyes are so earnest it almost hurts. "But we do it all because some things are worth the complexity. And this?" He gestures between you two. "This feels worth it to me."

Your heart is doing that fluttery thing again. "That was a good speech."

"I practiced it in the mirror."

You laugh despite yourself. "Of course you did."

"Is it working?"

You look at him – really look at him. At the hope in his eyes, the nervous way he's playing with his watch strap, the soft curl falling over his forehead that you've always wanted to brush back.

"If," you say slowly, "and this is a big if... if I said yes, what exactly would you have planned?"

His whole face lights up. "Well, I know this amazing little restaurant in Maranello. Very private, incredible pasta. We could talk about anything except work. I could tell you about growing up in Madrid, you could tell me about your family. Maybe afterwards we could walk through the old town, get gelato..."

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

"Only about a hundred times." He grins. "So..."

You take a deep breath. "If – and I mean if – I said yes... you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"If it doesn't work out, we stay professional. The team comes first."

"Always," he agrees immediately. "Although it will work out."

"Oh? You're that confident?"

His smile turns softer. "I've never been more sure of anything."

And maybe it's the way he's looking at you, or maybe it's Emma's words from earlier echoing in your head, or maybe you're just tired of pretending you don't feel this too.

"Okay," you say quietly.

He blinks. "Okay?"

"Yes. To dinner. Tomorrow night."

For a moment he just stares at you, like he can't quite believe it. Then the biggest smile breaks across his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Really? You're not joking?"

"Don't make me change my mind, Sainz."

He jumps up, practically bouncing with excitement. "You won't regret this, I promise. I'm going to plan the perfect evening. It will be amazing. You're going to fall so in love with me—"

"Carlos!"

"Right, sorry, getting ahead of myself." But he's still beaming. "Tomorrow night then? Eight o'clock?"

You nod, fighting your own smile. "Eight o'clock."

He backs away, still grinning, and this time he actually does trip over a tire. You hear him apologizing to the mechanics in rapid Spanish, but he doesn't stop smiling.

Emma appears as if by magic. "Finally!" she exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to lock you two in the simulator room."

"It's just dinner," you mutter, but you can feel yourself blushing.

"Sure it is." She hands you a file with a knowing look. "Just like it was 'just coffee' when he started bringing it to you every morning, and 'just being nice' when he waited two hours at the track in Malaysia because your flight was delayed."

"Whose side are you on?"

"The side of love, obviously." She dodges your swat. "And maybe the side of the garage betting pool."

"The what?"

But she's already walking away, humming what sounds suspiciously like the Italian national anthem.

You turn back to your work, trying to focus on lap times and tire strategies, but your mind keeps drifting to tomorrow night. To dinner and walks and gelato and the way Carlos looks at you like you're his favorite victory.

Your phone buzzes with a text:

Carlos: Twenty-four was my lucky number anyway 😉

You bite your lip to hold back a smile.

You: Don't push your luck, Sainz

Carlos: Too late. Already the luckiest man in Maranello 💙

And despite all your rules and reservations, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you're pretty lucky too.

After all, some things are worth breaking the rules for.

[reasonsforhope]

Double dose of articles about how crime is actually plummeting

From the UK:

"Seventy-eight per cent of people in England and Wales think that crime has gone up in the last few years, according to the latest survey. But the data on actual crime shows the exact opposite.

As of 2024, violence, burglary and car crime have been declining for 30 years and by close to 90%, according to the Crime Survey for England and Wales (CSEW) – our best indicator of true crime levels. Unlike police data, the CSEW is not subject to variations in reporting and recording.

The drop in violence includes domestic violence and other violence against women. Anti-social behaviour has similarly declined. While increased fraud and computer misuse now make up half of crime, this mainly reflects how far the rates of other crimes have fallen.

All high-income countries have experienced similar trends, and there is scientific consensus that the decline in crime is a real phenomenon.

The perception gap

So why is there such a gulf between public perception and the reality of crime trends? A regular YouGov poll asks respondents for their top three concerns from a broad set of issues. Concern about crime went from a low in 2016 (when people were more concerned with Brexit), quadrupled by 2019 and plummeted during the pandemic when people had other worries. But in the last year, the public’s concern about crime has risen again.

There are many possible explanations for this, of which the first is poor information. A study published in 1998 found that “people who watch a lot of television or who read a lot of newspapers will be exposed to a steady diet of crime stories” that does not reflect official statistics.

The old news media adage “if it bleeds, it leads” reflects how violent news stories, including crime increases and serious crimes, capture public attention. Knife crime grabs headlines in the UK, but our shock at individual incidents is testament to their rarity and our relative success in controlling violence – many gun crimes do not make the news in the US.

Most recent terrorist attacks in the UK have featured knives (plus a thwarted Liverpool bomber), but there is little discussion of how this indicates that measures to restrict guns and bomb-making resources are effective."

-via The Conversation, May 13, 2024

And the United States:

"[The United States experienced a spike in crime rates in 2020, during the pandemic.] But in 2023, crime in America looked very different.

"At some point in 2022 — at the end of 2022 or through 2023 — there was just a tipping point where violence started to fall and it just continued to fall," said Jeff Asher, a crime analyst and co-founder of AH Datalytics.

In cities big and small, from both coasts, violence has dropped.

"The national picture shows that murder is falling. We have data from over 200 cities showing a 12.2% decline ... in 2023 relative to 2022," Asher said, citing his own analysis of public data. He found instances of rape, robbery and aggravated assault were all down too.

Yet when you ask people about crime in the country, the perception is it's getting a lot worse.

A Gallup poll released in November found 77% of Americans believed there was more crime in the country than the year before. And 63% felt there was either a "very" or "extremely" serious crime problem — the highest in the poll's history going back to 2000.

So what's going on?

What the cities are seeing

What you see depends a lot on what you're looking at, according to Asher.

"There's never been a news story that said, 'There were no robberies yesterday, nobody really shoplifted at Walgreens,'" he said.

"Especially with murder, there's no doubt that it is falling at [a] really fast pace right now. And the only way that I find to discuss it with people is to talk about what the data says." ...

For cities like San Francisco, Baltimore and Minneapolis, there may be different factors at play [in crime declining]. And in some instances, it comes as the number of police officers declines too.

Baltimore police are chronically short of their recruitment goal, and as of last September had more than 750 vacant positions, according to a state audit report...

In Minneapolis, police staffing has plummeted. According to the Star Tribune, there are about 560 active officers — down from nearly 900 in 2019. Mannix said the 2020 police killing of George Floyd resulted in an unprecedented exodus from the department...

In Minneapolis, the city is putting more financial resources into nontraditional policing initiatives. The Department of Neighborhood Safety, which addresses violence through a public health lens, received $22 million in the 2024 budget."

-via NPR, February 12, 2024

[mrsfancyferrari]

JUST READ LOSE MY MIND, CHASE ATLANTIC INSPIRED???? FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FUCK YESS, WE NEED MORE CHASE ATLANTIC APPRECIATION

Don't Stop

Summary: MV1 + "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Song: Church · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: @dozyisdead thank you for your comment and your wish is my command! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engines was a symphony to some, an unbearable cacophony to others. For you, it was a constant hum, a background track to a life lived in the shadow of Formula 1.

Your father, a team principal with a fiery temper and an even fierier competitive spirit, had instilled in you a love for the sport, albeit one laced with a very specific kind of hatred.

That hatred was reserved for one man: Jos Verstappen. And consequently, for his son, Max.

The feud between your father and Jos was legendary, a well-documented saga of on-track collisions, boardroom betrayals, and accusations flung like grenades across the paddock. It was an old wound, festering and never allowed to heal.

You’d grown up hearing stories of Jos’s ruthlessness, his aggression, and the way he supposedly cheated your father out of a championship win years ago. You were raised to believe that the Verstappen name was synonymous with treachery and malice.

So, logically, you were supposed to hate Max Verstappen. It was expected.

But logic, as you were increasingly discovering, had a way of malfunctioning around the young Dutch driver.

You worked as a data analyst for your father's team, a role that kept you close to the action but slightly removed from the blatant animosity.

You excelled at your job, your sharp mind able to dissect telemetry readings and identify fractions of a second that could make the difference between victory and defeat.

It was during a pre-season testing session in Barcelona that Max first entered your orbit in a truly disconcerting way.

You were hunched over your laptop in the garage, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and burning rubber, when you felt a presence beside you.

"Looking busy," a voice drawled, laced with a Dutch accent that sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat despite your best efforts to control it. Max Verstappen. He was leaning against the workbench, his eyes – those intensely blue eyes that seemed to see right through you – fixed on your face.

He was even more striking in person than on television.

"Just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've heard you're good at it," he said, pushing off the workbench and taking a step closer. "Your father keeps a tight ship."

"He expects the best," you retorted, your defenses instantly up.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air. "And you wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

The unspoken question hung in the air, loaded with the weight of your fathers' rivalry. You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "No," you said firmly. "I wouldn't."

He smiled then, a genuine smile that transformed his face and made him look almost… vulnerable. "Good. Because I have a feeling you're capable of a lot more than just crunching numbers."

That was the beginning.

Over the next few months, their paths kept crossing. Brief encounters in the paddock, shared glances across crowded press conferences, and even the occasional, accidental bumping into in hotel lobbies.

Each interaction chipped away at your carefully constructed wall of animosity. You found yourself noticing the way he focused on the track, the quick wit he displayed in interviews, and the surprising kindness he showed to his mechanics.

He was… charming. Dangerous charming.

And he knew it.

He started seeking you out. A quick word in the hospitality tents, a shared elevator ride, a casual inquiry about your work. He was persistent, but never pushy. He was subtle, but undeniably present.

You tried to deny it, to rationalize it, to attribute it to simple curiosity or a harmless flirtation. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were drawn to him.

The tension between you grew thicker with each passing race weekend. It crackled in the air whenever you were near each other, a silent electricity that threatened to ignite into something explosive.

The Italian Grand Prix in Monza was the breaking point.

You were in the team's garage after a frustrating qualifying session, your father's angry voice echoing in the air. Max had just secured pole position, a fact that only added fuel to your father's fire.

You were trying to focus on the data, but your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

He found you in the back of the garage, away from the noise and chaos. He leaned against a stack of tires, his expression serious.

"You look troubled," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

"Just a bad day at the office," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"More than that," he insisted, taking a step closer. "I can see it in your eyes."

You finally looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you want, Max?"

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to your lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were filled with a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"I want you to stop pretending," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want you to stop acting like you don't feel it too."

"Feel what?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "This," he said, his voice barely audible. "This connection, this… pull."

You stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the electricity crackling between you.

"You know it's there," he continued, his gaze locked on yours. "You've known it for weeks."

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "My father…" you began, but he cut you off.

"I don't care about your father," he said fiercely. "Or mine. This is about us."

He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. Your mind was screaming at you to run, to push him away, to remind yourself of the years of hatred and animosity.

But your body betrayed you, remaining rooted to the spot, yearning for something you knew you shouldn't want.

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "The problem is," he murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous promise, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The world seemed to shrink, the roar of the engines fading into a distant hum. All that existed was him, his eyes, his touch, the intoxicating possibility of something forbidden.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you'd ever admitted to yourself.

But the weight of your father's expectations, the years of ingrained animosity, the potential fallout… it was all too much.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and forced yourself to step back.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just… don't."

He stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and disappointment. He hadn’t expected you to deny him.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Because it's wrong," you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Because it would destroy everything."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with a sadness that pierced your heart. "You're choosing him over me?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

He took a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I understand," he said, his voice flat. "You made your choice."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the back of the garage, the weight of your decision crushing you.

The next few weeks were torturous. You avoided Max at all costs, burying yourself in your work, trying to convince yourself that you'd done the right thing.

But every time you saw him on the track, every time you heard his voice, every time you caught his eye, the memory of that moment in Monza would come flooding back, a painful reminder of what you had denied yourself.

He, in turn, became distant. Acknowledging you with a curt nod whenever your paths crossed, his blue eyes now devoid of the warmth you had briefly glimpsed. He became the Max Verstappen the world knew - the ruthless, focused driver, untouchable and unapproachable.

It was as if he was deliberately burying the flicker of vulnerability you had witnessed, replacing it with an impenetrable wall.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race, your father called you into his office. He looked tired, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual.

"I know about you and Verstappen," he said, his voice heavy.

Your heart sank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Don't play coy with me. I've seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him."

You remained silent, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

"I won't allow it," he said, his voice hardening. "I won't have you fraternizing with the enemy."

"He's not the enemy," you argued, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Your father slammed his fist on the desk, making you jump. "He is the enemy! He's a Verstappen! Don't you understand what that means?"

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "Yes, I understand. I understand that you're letting a decades-old grudge dictate my life."

"I'm protecting you," he insisted, his voice softening slightly. "He'll only break your heart."

"And you won't?" you countered, the words laced with a pain you had kept hidden for years.

He looked at you, his expression softening, and you knew you had struck a nerve. He knew that, in his own way, he had already broken your heart, countless times.

You stood up, your body trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. "I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't live my life according to your rules."

You turned and walked out of his office, leaving him sitting alone in the silence.

You knew you couldn't stay. You couldn't continue to live a life dictated by other people's hatred.

That night, you packed a bag and left.

You didn't know where you were going, or what you were going to do. All you knew was that you needed to escape, to find a place where you could be free from the weight of your father's expectations and the shadow of the Verstappen rivalry.

You drove for hours, until you reached a small coastal town, far away from the noise and glamour of Formula 1. You found a cheap motel and checked in, collapsing onto the bed, exhaustion finally claiming you.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the ocean. You walked down to the beach, the cool sand between your toes, the salty air filling your lungs. You sat down on a rock, watching the waves crash against the shore, and finally allowed yourself to cry.

You cried for your father, for the years of missed opportunities and unspoken words. You cried for Max, for the connection you had denied, for the love you had let slip away. And you cried for yourself, for the life you had been living, a life that wasn't truly your own.

As the sun began to set, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You didn't know what the future held, but you knew that you were finally free.

A few days later, while you were having coffee at a small cafe, you saw a familiar figure walking down the street.

Max.

Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? How had he found you?

He saw you too, his eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, then walked towards you, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I needed a break," he said, his gaze fixed on the ground. "And I thought I might find you here."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "Why?"

He looked up then, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Because," he said softly, "I couldn't let you go."

A denial trembled on your lips. This is a mistake. It can't work. The feud, your father, everything stands in our way. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart, traitorous thing that it was, soared at his words, desperate to believe in the impossible.

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, stepping closer, his presence filling the small space between you.

"Don't," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Don't tell me it's a bad idea. Don't tell me we can't. Just… just let me be here. With you."

The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming. You looked away, breaking the connection, needing to gather your thoughts, to reign in the emotions that threatened to consume you.

"You shouldn't have come," you said, the words sounding harsher than you intended. "It's not… it's complicated."

He sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "I know it's complicated. I'm not stupid. But I don't care about complicated. I care about you."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his gaze unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. You knew you should tell him to leave, to go back to his life, to the expectations and pressures that defined him.

But you couldn’t. The yearning in his eyes, the vulnerability he showed, mirrored the longing that had been buried deep within you for so long.

"My father knows," you blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. "He knows about… us. And he’s not happy."

Max's jaw tightened. "I figured as much." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Does he know how long 'us' has been going on?"

You looked down at your hands. "He doesn’t know there is an 'us'."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Right. Well, that's what you're afraid of. And that's the least of your worries. I'm sure he threatened you. He knows my father as well as anyone, and he'll have made it clear that he wants nothing to do with us."

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "He… he said I couldn't see you. He called you the enemy."

"And you listened?" There was a challenge in his voice, a flicker of the competitive fire that burned so brightly on the track.

You finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "No," you said, your voice stronger this time. "I didn't. That's why I'm here."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. The weariness seemed to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. "Good," he said, his voice softer now. "Because I don't think I could have handled it if you had."

He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco. A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout.

But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

“This is crazy, you know,” you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

“What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time,” Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

“Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?” you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

“Has anyone tried to do something to you?” he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

“Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before,” you answered, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone.”

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. “I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable.”

The unspoken words hung heavy between you – the suffocating atmosphere, the judgmental eyes, the constant reminders of the chasm between your world and Max’s. Or, more accurately, between your fathers' worlds.

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“You could stay with me.”

The words hung in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Stay with him? Live with him? It was a leap of faith so profound, so reckless, it took your breath away.

“Max…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me.”

The raw honesty in his voice was disarming, stripping away the layers of cynicism and doubt you had so carefully constructed. The thought of waking up beside him, of sharing your life with him, was a siren song you couldn't ignore.

You swirled the dregs of your latte, avoiding Max’s intense gaze. He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco.

A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout. But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

"This is crazy, you know," you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly.

It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

"What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time," Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

"Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?" you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

"Has anyone tried to do something to you?" he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

"Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before," you answered, offering a reassuring smile. "You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice low, insistent. "This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone."

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. "I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable."

The unspoken words hung heavy between you – the suffocating atmosphere, the judgmental eyes, the constant reminders of the chasm between your world and Max’s. Or, more accurately, between your fathers' worlds.

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

"You could stay with me."

The words hung in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Stay with him? Live with him? It was a leap of faith so profound, so reckless, it took your breath away.

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

"Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me."

The raw honesty in his voice was disarming, stripping away the layers of cynicism and doubt you had so carefully constructed. The thought of waking up beside him, of sharing your life with him, was a siren song you couldn't ignore.

"You don't have to answer now but can we get a meal, I'm starving after driving so long," Max said, breaking the heavy silence.

"I have food in my hotel, if you want," you replied, the offer escaping before you could fully register it. It was a small, hesitant step, a tiny crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Max's face softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Really? Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"It's just leftovers," you said, trying to downplay the significance. "But it's better than this coffee shop. And cheaper."

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright, lead the way. But I'm buying dessert later."

The walk back to your hotel was short, the silence less oppressive than it had been at the cafe. You found yourself stealing glances at

Max, noticing the way the afternoon sun caught the golden flecks in his eyes, the slight stubble that shadowed his jaw, the easy confidence in his stride. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of energy and passion, and you were inexplicably drawn to him, even though every instinct screamed that it was a terrible idea.

Your hotel room was small and functional, a far cry from the opulent suites you were accustomed to.

You felt a flush of embarrassment as you opened the door, revealing the cramped space with its generic furniture and slightly musty smell.

"It's not much," you mumbled, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Max shrugged, unfazed. "It's a place to sleep. I've stayed in worse." He surveyed the room with genuine curiosity, his eyes lingering on the small framed photo on the bedside table – a picture of you and your mother, taken years ago on a sun-drenched summer day.

You busied yourself in the tiny kitchenette, pulling out the containers of leftover pasta from the fridge. "It's just pasta, nothing fancy," you said, your voice muffled.

"Pasta's perfect," Max replied, leaning against the doorway, watching you. "Especially when someone makes it for me."

You felt your cheeks flush again. "I didn't make it. I ordered it from a restaurant."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Details, details. The point is, you're sharing it with me."

As you ate, the conversation flowed more easily. You talked about everything and nothing – the weather, the city, the ridiculousness of the reality TV show playing on the small television.

You avoided the topic of your fathers, of the racing world, of the complicated web of politics and rivalries that had brought you both to this point.

After you finished eating, you started clearing the dishes, but Max stopped you, gently taking the plates from your hands. "Let me do that," he said. "You relax."

You watched him as he washed the dishes in the tiny sink, the water splashing and the sound echoing in the small room. There was something surprisingly domestic about the scene, something that felt both comforting and unsettling.

When he was done, he turned to you, drying his hands on a dish towel. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension.

"So," he said, his voice low, "about that offer…"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Max, I don't know. It's… a lot to consider."

"I know it is," he said, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "But I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was the right thing. For both of us."

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. Fear, doubt, longing, hope – they all battled for dominance.

"My father would kill me," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"He won't have to know," Max said, his voice soft. "We can keep it our secret. For as long as we need to."

The idea was tempting, dangerously so. A secret life, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, where you could be with Max without fear of judgment or reprisal.

But the thought of deceiving your father, of living a lie, weighed heavily on you. "I don't know if I can do that," you said, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

Max's expression was unreadable. "Then what do you want to do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn't know. You wanted to run away, to escape the suffocating pressure of your life. You wanted to be with Max, to explore the connection that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

But you were afraid. Afraid of the consequences, afraid of the pain, afraid of the inevitable heartbreak that seemed to follow you everywhere.

You stepped back, putting some distance between you. "I need time to think," you said, your voice trembling.

Max nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know. Just… don't take too long. I don't want to lose you."

He took another step closer, closing the gap between you. You could feel his breath on your face, see the flecks of gold in his eyes, smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"The problem is," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The air crackled with electricity. You knew he was right. One kiss, one touch, and you'd be lost. You'd surrender to the desire that had been building between you for months, and there would be no turning back.

You closed your eyes again, bracing yourself for the inevitable. But instead of kissing you, Max stepped back, his face etched with a mixture of longing and restraint.

"I should go," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll let you think."

He turned and walked towards the door, leaving you standing alone in the small hotel room, your heart pounding, your mind reeling, and your body aching for a touch that you knew you couldn't afford to have.

The scent of him lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the choice you had to make, of the path you had to choose, and of the dangerous, irresistible man who was waiting for you on the other side.

You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that your life would never be the same again. . . .

The sudden buzz of the hotel room door jolted you from your introspection, the muffled sound piercing the quietude that had settled over the space like a warm, velvet shroud.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering like a caged bird at the thought of seeing Max again. Two days had felt like an eternity, and you hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was amiss. The buzz grew more insistent, and you realized you'd been holding your breath.

With a soft exhale, you approached the door, peeking through the peephole to confirm your suspicion. There he was, Max Verstappen, his frame slightly hunched as if he were carrying an invisible burden.

You swung the door open, the cool metal handle smooth against your palm, and took in the sight of him. Your eyes widened in alarm. Max looked as if he had been through a storm, his usually impeccable hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled, but it was the bruise blossoming on his left cheek that truly concerned you.

"Max! What happened!" you exclaimed, reaching for him, your voice a symphony of worry and relief. He stumbled forward, his eyes hazed with pain, and you caught him before he could collapse, the weight of his body a comforting presence that sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

With gentle insistence, you guided him to the plush couch that dominated the room, the soft fabric whispering against his skin as he sank into the cushions. He winced slightly, and you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

"Nothing happened," he muttered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air, thick with unshed emotion.

But the tremor in his words was a telltale sign of his distress, and you knew better than to take his dismissal at face value.

"Max," you said firmly, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his knees. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your palms, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

You searched his eyes, willing him to open up to you. "You can tell me." His gaze flicked to the floor, a silent confession of his vulnerability.

"My father…" he began, his voice cracking. "He hit me after I told him I was coming to see you today." The words hung between you, heavy with the unspoken implications of his actions and the price he'd paid for you two.

Your chest tightened with a mix of anger and fear for Max, but you pushed the feelings aside, focusing instead on the warmth of his body so near to yours.

"Why?" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, the turmoil in his eyes a tempest that you desperately wanted to soothe.

"He doesn't approve," Max said, his jaw clenching. "But that's never stopped me before." A hint of defiance flashed in his eyes, and you felt a spark of admiration for his courage.

The silence stretched, a taut bowstring drawn between you both. The air grew thick with unspoken desire, and the space between you seemed to shrink until it was nothing more than a whisper.

You wanted to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, to brush the hair from his forehead, to tell him everything would be alright. But you couldn't find the courage.

"I'll go get a first aid kit," you muttered, breaking the spell and standing abruptly.

You practically fled to the bathroom, grabbing the familiar box from under the sink. Your hands trembled as you opened it, the sterile scent of antiseptic doing little to calm your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and walked back into the living room.

You returned with the familiar red and white box, the scent of antiseptic and sterile gauze a stark contrast to the intoxicating aroma of Max's aftershave that still lingered in the air.

He was lying back just as you'd left him, legs splayed slightly, a picture of vulnerable masculinity. A wave of protectiveness washed over you, eclipsing the earlier anxiety.

You walked between his legs, a move that felt both intimate and practical, and gently tapped his shoulder. "Max, wake up," you murmured, your voice soft.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, heavy-lidded and unfocused for a moment. He sat up slowly, wincing almost imperceptibly, and instinctively placed his hand on the side of your leg, a light, possessive touch.

"Yes, schat?" he asked gently, his voice thick with sleep and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

The word, Dutch for "treasure," sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way your skin prickled under his touch, focusing instead on the task at hand. "I've got the first aid kit. Let's take a look, okay?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours, searching, questioning. "It's nothing, really. Just… a bit sore."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Let me be the judge of that." You knelt before him, opening the kit and carefully laying out the contents: antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze pads, and pain relievers.

"Where are the worst spots?" you asked, your voice professional, though your heart hammered against your ribs.

He hesitated, then unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a faint bruise blossoming on his chest. You gasped softly, your fingers tracing the edges of the discoloration.

"He didn't hold back, did he?" you whispered, your voice laced with anger.

Max shrugged, trying to downplay the severity of the situation. "It's fine. I've had worse."

"That's not the point," you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. You softened your tone, looking back up at him. "Let me clean it up. And then we can talk."

He sighed, relenting. "Alright."

You carefully cleaned the bruise with an antiseptic wipe, watching his face for any sign of pain. He remained stoic, his gaze fixed on your hands as they moved with gentle precision. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions.

Once you finished cleaning the bruise, you applied a thin layer of antiseptic cream and covered it with a bandage. "There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "That should help."

Max looked down at the bandage, then back up at you. "Thank you," he said softly.

You met his gaze, and the air crackled with tension. You knew you couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. "Why, Max? Why do you keep coming here, knowing what it costs you?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I want to," he said simply. "Because being with you… it's worth it."

"But is it really?" you pressed, your voice laced with doubt. "Is it worth the pain, the conflict, the disapproval of your family?"

He reached out and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His touch was warm, grounding, reassuring. "Yes," he said firmly. "It is. Because you make me happy. You make me feel… alive. And I don't want to give that up."

His words resonated with a raw honesty that tugged at your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that your connection was strong enough to withstand the forces pulling you apart.

"I worry about you, Max," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "I know. But I can handle it. I'm a racing driver, remember? I'm used to taking risks."

You managed a weak smile. "That's not exactly reassuring."

He chuckled softly, the sound a welcome relief in the tense atmosphere. He pulled you closer, his gaze fixed on your lips. The air grew thick with anticipation.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that threatened to consume you both.

"I… I don't think we should see each other," you muttered, your hand instinctively reaching up to play with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

The words felt like shards of glass in your mouth, each syllable a betrayal of your own desires.

"And why is that, schat?" he slowly smiled, his Dutch accent thickening with playful provocation. He rubbed the side of your thighs, the simple gesture sending shivers down your spine.

"Because you're getting hurt because of me," you replied, knowing it was a weak argument, but all you could manage.

"For you? I'll do anything," Max said, moving closer, his breath ghosting across your lips.

He was so close, you could see the flecks of the ocean in his blue eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, a memento from his karting days.

You knew you should pull away, end this before it went any further, but you were frozen, caught in his magnetic pull.

He raised his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "I wasn't joking," he whispered, his voice husky and low. "If I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, threatening to break free. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on him, on the anticipation that was building inside you. You knew he was right.

One kiss, and you'd be lost, spiraling further into this forbidden love affair.

"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered back, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "What is?"

"That I don't want you to stop," you admitted, the truth spilling out like a confession.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine, heart-stopping smile that made you forget all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening. He lowered his head and finally, his lips met yours.

The kiss was electric, a jolt of pure energy that coursed through your veins. It was possessive, demanding, and utterly intoxicating.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, surrendering to the moment, to the overwhelming desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Time seemed to dissolve as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. He tasted of rain and adrenaline, of the forbidden thrill that defined your relationship. You ran your fingers through his hair, savoring the feel of it against your skin.

He pulled away slightly, gasping for air, his eyes dark with passion. "See?" he murmured, his voice raspy. "Told you."

You laughed breathlessly, the sound filled with a mixture of joy and apprehension. "You're impossible," you said, shaking your head.

"Maybe," he conceded, his eyes twinkling. "But you love it."

You couldn't deny it. You loved the danger, the excitement, the feeling of being completely alive when you were with him. But you also feared it. The consequences of your actions loomed large, threatening to crash down on you both.

"What are we going to do, Max?" you asked, the question heavy with uncertainty.

He sighed, his expression turning serious. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not giving you up. Not without a fight."

He pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. "Tonight," he murmured, "forget everything else. Just be with me."

You knew it was a temporary solution, a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. But in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, your love was strong enough to overcome the obstacles in its path.

The roar of the Formula 1 engines rumbled in the distance, a constant reminder of the world he belonged to, the world that was waiting for him.

He needed to leave, to go and fight, to drive the best race of his life.

You pulled away and looked in his eyes. “Go. Win. I’ll be watching.”

He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “For you, I will.”

He kissed you once more, a quick but passionate kiss before turning and disappearing into the night. As you closed the door, you leaned against it, your heart pounding in your chest.

You knew this couldn't last forever.

But for tonight, you would allow yourself to dream, to believe in the impossible, and to hope that somehow, against all odds, your love story would have a happy ending. . . .

[kanemanuelkeludbp]

Global Aid Crisis in 2025: The Truth Behind the US "Empty Check"

Introduction

On February 9, 2025, a news about the stagnation of US global aid projects shocked the international community. Although US Secretary of State Rubio made a high-profile promise to "continue to provide humanitarian assistance", the reality is that almost all aid projects have stalled. What is hidden behind this?

1. Behind the stagnation of aid: funding shortage or political game?

According to multiple sources, several projects of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) were forced to suspend due to funding issues. However, some analysts pointed out that this is not a simple financial problem, but the result of domestic political games in the United States. As partisan struggles intensify after the 2024 election, foreign aid has become a political bargaining chip, resulting in the delay of aid funds.

2. The humanitarian crisis intensifies: Who pays for the innocent?

In many parts of Africa and the Middle East, medical and education projects that rely on US aid have been paralyzed. According to UN data, in January 2025 alone, more than 1 million people faced food shortages due to interruptions in aid. An African refugee said in an interview: "We have become victims of politics."

3. Response of the international community: condemnation and self-help

Faced with the "empty promises" of the United States, the European Union and some Asian countries have begun to increase their aid. However, international aid experts pointed out that the unipolarity of the global aid system needs to be solved urgently, otherwise similar crises will recur again and again.

4. Future Outlook: Where is the global aid system going?

This crisis has exposed the fragility of the global aid system. Experts call for the establishment of a more diversified aid mechanism to reduce dependence on a single country. At the same time, countries should strengthen cooperation to ensure that aid funds are used transparently and efficiently.

Conclusion

The stagnation of US aid is not only a humanitarian crisis, but also a warning to the global governance system. We can't help but ask: In the face of political games, where is human conscience and responsibility?

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 2 - Work Introductions

Autumn Embers Masterlist

CW: Mentions of child loss, mentions of medical neglect/abuse, mentions of reproductive abuse, mentions of pregnancy complications and death, mentions of racism, sexism (in an omegaverse way), Brandon (unfortunately living), real world references

Data entry and analysis isn’t the most exciting job in the world, no matter what kind of fancy title you’re given, but it pays the bills. Working on a military base isn’t ideal, but the benefits are nothing to sneeze at. And most days, you get to sit alone and uninterrupted, in your own office, instead of in a cramped cubicle.

On Tuesday, you’re startled out of your audiobook by a gentle knock on your desk. Sherry, your immediate superior, gives an awkward little wave and waits for you to finish your line and mute your music.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this,” she says, as soon as your headphones are clear. “You remember those port reports from Honduras? Some of the senior analysts have some questions for you? They’re currently in a meeting and requested some clarification…?”

You wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. “…what do they want to know?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell me, I’m sorry,” Sherry says. “They asked if you could… Well, they need you to attend the meeting. Right now.”

“Do I even have the clearance for that kind of meeting?” You stand without waiting for an answer and disconnect your laptop from the dock. With it tucked under your arm, you grab a notebook and pen, as well as your water bottle.

Sherry leads the way out of the office. “I know you submitted these reports two weeks ago, and your notations are excellent. I think the problem is with one of the flagged ship manifests, but they wouldn’t clarify why they were concerned. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Her apologetic air suddenly makes sense. “Brandon’s in there, isn’t he?”

Sherry grimaces. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s him and a few alphas. There’s an American CIA agent as well.”

“So I absolutely don’t have the clearance for this meeting,” you sigh. “Great.”

A short elevator ride and two halls away, you take a fortifying breath before you step into an occupied meeting room. Brandon’s is the first face you see, and when he sees you the corners of his lips turn up in an infuriating smile. Next to him, another senior analyst’s eyebrows pop up, but Andrew actually looks happy to see you.

Before the door can close behind you, a blonde, American alpha stands and offers her hand in a no-nonsense shake. “Kate Laswell. We appreciate you being so prompt.”

“Of course,” you answer. Unfortunately, your attention is a little torn. All four members of the 141 are sitting at the table, looking at you curiously. Sergent MacTavish grins like a wolf. Captain Price tips his chin up just enough that you know he’s scenting you. Lieutenant Riley, face covered from the nose down in a black neck gaiter, gives you a quick once over that makes you want to shiver. But you’re a professional, so instead of fleeing you take the nearest seat, across from a smiling Sergent Garrick. You fold both of your hands on top of the table, the very picture of accommodating and helpful, “What can I assist you with?”

“Why’d you flag this shipping manifest,” Brandon asks. The projector at the front of the room switches to a document that would be barely legible, even without the distortion of zoom.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” you tell him, flipping your laptop open. “What’s the file name?”

“Honduras,” Brandon says, Port Cortez.”

“Puerto Cortes,” you correct. And seeing as it’s the largest seaport in Central America, I’ve combed through literally hundreds of manifests, you think, but don’t say. “I’m going to have to ask you to be a bit more specific. The projector isn’t easy to read.”

“You flagged this manifest for a Korean ship.”

You jump when Sergent Garrick says, “Christ, mate, just give her the file name.”

Lieutenant Riley gives a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. You think you see MacTavish still grinning at you out of the corner of your eye. Laswell rattles off the document name without looking.

As soon as the document loads, you know exactly why Brandon and Andrew are confused. And you know that the following conversation is going to be so unpleasant that you shoot off a quick email to take the rest of the day off once this meeting ends.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “The manifest is inconsistent with previous patterns from that particular port and that particular captain and crew. As I noted, the four containers from Venusian Pharmaceuticals wouldn’t have made it on the ship do to political and economic pressures.”

Brandon doesn’t bother to look at you when he asks, “What pressures?”

Laswell interjects before you can answer, “Leaked internal communications provided evidence that Cloudstone Pharm was selling tampered heat suppressants and birth control in various black markets. The 4B movement in South Korea had been calling for an investigation for years by that point. A lot of omegas were killed because of mis-labeled medications. Pregnancy and birth related complications.”

“I remember that. It was, what, five, more years ago?” Lieutenant Riley asks. “Had an entire re-brand. Cloudstone to Venusian. Everything went from blues and whites to greens and yellows.”

“Okay, so the containers had a bit of extra security to get onto the ship,” Brandon says, before you can get over the shock of two alphas in a room who know anything about even the broad strokes of omega health care. “There’s protesters at every major port for one thing or another.”

“Even if they’d gotten on the ship, they wouldn’t have made it to Puerto Cortes,” you counter. “The captain lost two of his kids because of their medications. He’s had his crew dump the containers and alter manifests before. He was investigated for it, but his crew wouldn’t speak against him.”

Brandon frowns. “How do we know he didn’t get paid off?”

How do we know the omegas weren’t worth less than a cash payment? Your throat feels like closing in on itself. You keep your voice as steady as you can. “He wouldn’t have been.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew, eyes darting between you and Brandon, tries to interrupt. “Well-”

“Because he made the autopsy reports for both of his sons public,” you answer. You have to force your jaw to unclench. “Along with pictures and videos of how sick they were before they passed, before anyone knew what was really wrong with them. And the executives of Cloudstone, an American company, laughed. Called them slurs and ignorant animals in emails and meeting memos that were later leaked to the public.”

Across from you, Garrick is not smiling anymore. “That’s… disgusting.”

“Cloudstone struggled to recover in eastern Asian markets, even with the re-brand,” you continue, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And all of this was in my report.”

“Your job isn’t to provide those kinds of references. You’re not trained for it. There were a couple of links to articles,” Brandon dismisses. “Not enough to-”

“One of his sons experienced total organ failure,” you interrupt, closing your laptop. You know your scent must be all over the place, but the subject matter was already touchy. Now he’s questioning your work and misrepresenting your job duties? Oh, fuck him. “Because he was on incorrectly administered fertility treatments that were disguised as birth control, he had a high-risk pregnancy with multiples. And then his medications were switched with heat inducers. His other son had rapid onset neuropathy and multiple strokes within a week. Neither of his sons wanted to have children. One of them couldn’t, biologically, because it would have killed him anyways. And their partners decided that they didn’t care.”

Brandon wrinkles his nose at you. “No need to get so worked up.”

You practically feel the way your scent goes hot and acrid. Where most omegas have a distress scent that is sickly sweet, yours is much closer to an alpha’s shock scent. Your parents used to call you “Wildfire” because of it. You watch the hairs on Garrik’s arms stand up.

You can barely smell Andrew’s nervous distress over your rage. “Okay, yeah, that’s plenty. The captain wouldn’t have taken the containers.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t consult the references I added into the report?” You know the sudden calm in your voice, the relaxing of your posture, is at odds with the way your anger scent gets stronger. You’ve been told it’s a sensory nightmare, so you only do it when someone tells you you’re not calm enough. You fold your hands on the table again. “Because I included original and translated sources, according to the standards of the department.”

The room is silent. All seven alphas are agitated. You can only pick out MacTavish’s scent, muddled and frustrated. Andrew opens his mouth, closes it. Finally says, “I didn’t receive the references.”

“Senior analyst Lawrence received the full report directly,” you say, holding eye contact with Brandon. “But I know how emails can get lost. I would be happy to send them again. I’ll CC you, and request that your access to the full drive be confirmed. Sir. Is there anything else I can assist the team with?”

Laswell scrawls something on a sticky note and passes it over to you. “Please also include me on those emails.”

You give her your most demure smile. “Unfortunately, Agent Laswell, I don’t have the clearance to send reports outside of the department. I would be happy to help you coordinate that with senior analysts Lawrence and Bennett.”

You pluck the sticky note from her hand, stand, and gather up your laptop, notebook, and water bottle. When you have everything, you pass behind her to where Brandon and Andrew are sitting. Deliberately putting yourself at Brandon’s back, you hand the note to Andrew with a placid smile. “Agent Laswell requests that you provide her with the full report.”

Brandon smells disconcerted, trapped in his seat with your scent roaring as you stand just inside of his blind spot. Andrew, for his part, only hesitates for a moment before taking the offered sticky note, looking from you to Laswell to Brandon and back. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“I… believe that will be all…?”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” You cement your little performance with a perfectly deferential partial curtsy to Andrew, then to the rest of the room. “Please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s anything else I can do the support the team.”

As the door shuts behind you, you hear Captain Price’s voice for the first time. “Goddamn. That is a woman capable of murder.”

[charliemwrites]

Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

Content: Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

Next

Masterlist

[tillichan]

⋆.˚✮ Your life in Kuroko's Basketball for @frostfall-matches ✮˚.⋆

When you just got into Kaijou High School you totally weren't expecting to become a basketball team manager. Gymnastics club, painting club, going-home club at least. So how did it all go like this for you? Well, it happened to occur during your first day of new school. You slowly walked across the school yard trying to find the club stand you were interested in. Just to be caught and stuck between two very active club presidents who aggressively wanted you to join their clubs. "She will join a gymnastics club!", yelled one of them. "I know about her past successes! With her our team will win the national tournament!" "No! She will join painting club! Her paintings are something else!", answered a president of the painting club stamping their foot. "No way you'll take her with you!" Listening to their bickering you slowly started realizing that you absolutely didn't want to join these clubs. So without much thought you dangled a first available leaflet you found in your pocket in front of them and told them that you already joined this club. The faces of the presidents of painting and gymnastics clubs fell. And you were about to slip away from them, but your real trouble was just beginning. Because they were not the one who noticed the leaflet you held in your hands. In a moment, you were encircled by the group of boys who took you to their stand. To the stand of the male basketball team to be exact. And so you became a manager of Kaijou High Basketball team. Because why not? It sounded fun and not tight. You were sure that it doesn't take a lot of time, which means that more time is available for your hobbies. A nice bonus was that you tried something new. But you were only half-right. Somehow you enjoyed your manager duties so much so it started taking all your time and occupying all your thoughts. Not to mention that Kaijou team were such a sweethearts who were absolutely whipped for you, their precious manager. What started as just a whim turned into your favorite thing. You became not only a manager who brings the snacks and cheers for the team, but also a data analyst who analyses the opponents and a real sport manager who does team business.

Profile: Kaijou High Male Basketball Team Manager.

⋙ Training Capability ███████▒▒▒ 7/10

⋙ Analytical Skill █████████▒ 9/10

⋙ Organizing Skill ██████████ 10/10

⋙ Leadership █████▒▒▒▒▒ 5/10

⋙ Charisma ██████████ 10/10

⋙ Cooking ███████▒▒▒ 7/10

At first your main manager duties were simple. You prepared snacks like honey and lemon and drinks for the team, filled out some documents and took care of their injuries. But as soon as you hooked on being manger and met some annoying rivals, you started working on your analytical skill. You wanted to help your team to win national tournaments, so you helped them with organizing and planning practices, matches and training camps.

Data analyzing and collecting is your main skill that helped your team more than once. You have an impressive base of player's data and you're able to predict a game relying on data you have, even during the play. Since your mind stays cold even under the pressure you're always there to calm down your team whenever they act on their emotions. You're their shield no matter how it sounds, because there are so many mean players who humiliate team instead of playing basketball. But with you by their side they're no longer a problem.

Since you started doing this only recently, you still not as good at it as your rivals, but all them agree that it does not take long for you to catch them up. The way you turn from a chill relaxed girl into a monster of analyzing during the match is something that scares them. Even looking at you makes their skin crawl. Your teasing and combative personality commands respect and admiration.

Romantic Matchup: Kise Ryouta

The first time you and Ryouta met was when you two just joined Kaijou Basketball Club. It happened at the welcoming ceremony, but even then the both of you were sure that you won't find common ground. Never. You not only mocked Ryouta during his speech thereby earning the trust and respect of the whole Kaijou team and hatred of his fangirls. Moreover, you immediately brought order and pulled all screaming girls out of the door. Kasamatsu was ready to cry of overwhelming gratitude and could swear that he fell in love with you right at that moment. He changed his mind about his crush when he got to know you better though. But Ryouta was annoyed by your behavior. You made him a laughingstock, but, oh, he had to admit that he also found cool the way you were so relaxed and confident. He grinned and approached you trying to take a revenge by mocking you back. Just to suffer a heavy defeat. Was Ryouta upset about it? Maybe, a little bit. But you also sparked interest in him since you seemed uninterested in Ryouta at all that made your future interaction more comfortable. Mindful of his failure during the welcoming ceremony, Ryouta was in no hurry to show his respect by adding "-cchi" to your name, not to mention that you kept teasing and mocking him and his fangirls like there was no tomorrow. But the truth was Ryouta already admired you a lot. He had a lot of fun trying to mock you back. The way you were such a respectful manager who outsmarted Momoi more than once didn't help too. Ryouta started developing feelings for you. What kind of feelings? Well, he wished that it was just a respect and admiration like how he respected Momoi, but of course he just deceived himself. Because he had a big and fat crush on you and did his best to deny it like an elementary schooler. And if not for his annoying fangirls, who knows when the two of you will become a couple. One day you and Ryouta hung out together in the schoolyard while talking about basketball and having lunch. And as usual a crowd of his fans surrounded you asking for an autograph. They were afraid of you though, but there still were some brave girls who tried to approach their idol. What was not expected, however, was Ryouta wrapped his arm around your shoulder possessively pulling you closer. "Thank you for your attention, but don't disturb out date, please", said him drawing gasps from you and the girl in front of him. He smiled but his eyes were cold. The girl apologized and ran away and so you and Ryouta became a fake couple. The rumor quickly spread, even his Teiko friends found out about your relationship and sent you some congratulations. Kaijou team did not stand aside from it. They grabbed Ryouta and started asking about you two.

Moriyama: Kise, you bastard, how could you take our precious manager! I will never forgive you! You obviously knew about my feelings for her! Hayakawa: I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU, KISE!!! PLEASE, TAKE CARE OF HER!!! Kobori: Stay calm, Hayakawa. But I'm happy for you too, Kise. You was so in love with her and finally won her over. Congratulations. Kise: But we are no- Kasamatsu: Stop gossiping and go to practice!

Becoming a fake couple simplified your life a little, since the girls stopped their attempts to catch Ryouta's attention. And they knew right that it's dangerous to deal with you so they didn't annoy you too. But the both of you knew that your feelings for each other were not a fake, it was real. You and Ryouta were in love with each other but your true feelings were obscured by a mask of mutual help. Ryouta was the first who confessed. It happened after the game that Kaijou team lost. Ryouta was in tears, he even couldn't stand properly. And even though you teased him again, but in such a loving manner as you wiped his tears away that made Ryouta feel better and... blush. Yes, it affected and flustered him so much. He looked down, somehow he could not bring himself to look at your eyes. "I like you", his voice was almost a whisper meant for you, but so sincere.

• You and Ryouta are this couple who enjoys teasing each other. But even though he can be... not really a nice guy when it comes to others, but when it comes to you, ugh, he is softie who can't find a proper respond to mock you back. It makes Kaijou team look at you two as at comedy duo, they adore you two very much and want to protect your couple though. • You beat him in video games and proud of it! Ryouta tries to copy your moves to win though so maybe one day he will surpass you, who knows. In respond he asks you for playing basketball and beats you every time. Obviously. But you slowly but surely improve your basketball skills so you beat Riko and Momoi when the three of you join some matches between your friends. • Ryouta respects you the most! You're such a cool person in his eyes, the coolest person in the world! His love stems from the pure adoration he has for you. The way his gaze softens every time he looks at you or the way he acts like a lovesick puppy around you are proof of this. • The both of you are independent and value each others personal space. And it makes your relationship very healthy and strong. You don't bother Ryouta and don't cling to him whenever he has his own business, and he gives you some self space whenever you need it. But despite this, the both of you are obviously in love with each other and shower each other with love and affection. • Ryouta is yapper and you are listener. But he is absolutely fine with listening to you back! He values that you see him, just Kise Ryouta who wants to play basketball, not a popular model. This is something he loves about you the most. • Most of the time you and Ryouta are on the same page. You woke up and think that you're too busy to go on a date? You already received a message from Ryouta, he has a pert-time job today so he can't meet you. You think that you want to go traveling? Good news! Ryouta received a free trip to the hot springs and asks you if you'd like to join him. You dislike spiders? It's fine, Ryouta would kill them all for you, but deal with the worms instead please. • Your favorite way to spend time together is you both staying home and enjoying playing video games, discussing basketball, baking, painting (you always tease Ryouta because he sucks at painting, but he doesn't mind), cuddling, doing skin care, watching anime or movies or go out and do a lot of exciting activities, be it amusement park or traveling you just enjoy each others presence.

Ship Tropes

• fake lovers to real lovers • flirty menace (you) x pretend to be your menace but fails (him) • bickering idiots

Relationships

Kaijou High Team adores you very much. Each of them. And it took not a long time for them to warm up to you. To be exact, they all have been actually in love with you since the welcoming ceremony. The way you dealt with Kise, mocked him and wasn't interested in him at all? Congratulations, you just got a bunch of simps who respect you very much. You can't imagine how much Ryouta annoyed them, especially at first, when he just joined the club. But you... You cut this overconfident player and became their cool and responsible manager. You know, they literally worship you and each of them have a tiny crush on you. Kasamatsu finds very cool the way you can keep Kise in line. To be honest, he was in love with you, but slowly these feelings turned to firm friendship, founded on mutual esteem. He enjoys spending time with you discussing basketball or teaching you guitar. You are a powerful captain x manager unit. And you also are the only girl he feels comfortable with. Moriyama flirts with you as if there is no tomorrow. And this is the reason why the whole team beats him every day because no one can flirt with their precious manager. The fact that you started dating Ryouta shocked him and the whole team though, but they still support your relationship a lot, because, firstly, Ryouta's fangirls afraid of you, so they stopped annoy the team and, secondly, they all were aware of your mutual feelings, they see clearly that you are so in love with each other and this's true feelings. But rest assured, they'd beat Kise if he'll hurt you one day, they are more than ready to protect their precious manager.

Aomine Daiki is your best friend, your relationship did not begin well though. The two of you met for the first time during the match between Too and Kaijou, of course you two became more rivals than friends. Daiki was really surprised the way you predicted his movements and helped Kise and your team. Kaijou almost won, Daiki even entered the Zone because he couldn't win without it. Slowly but surely you and Daiki became friends because you two started seeing each other off the matches. Daiki enjoys your keen mind and a sharp tongue. The way you likes basketball too and know a lot about it attracts him even more. Every time you and Daiki meet each other you two usually team up to tease people around you, taste and eat something delicious, talk about basketball, anime, manga, video games or laze around. He still doesn't understand why you chose Kise of all people and teases you about it every day.

Momoi Satsuki is your main rival, but it seems like only Satsuki thinks so. But how else? After all, you're such a smart cookie, some more and you will surpass her. The way you're so sassy and combative annoys Satsuki very much. And Daiki who always joins you whenever you tease her about something doesn't help at all. But Satsuki has to admit that she respects you. And as soon as you and her banded together to defeat Jabberwock, you and Satsuki got closer and became friends too. She likes your smartness and that the two of you are so different, but still have a lot in common. Satsuki likes talking to you about love and relationship, especially about Kuroko. But she also wants to listen to the latest gossip about your relationship with Ryouta or complain to Aomine. When you and Satsuki, team of the most responsible managers, are together, your team is destined to win.

Murasakibara Atsushi is one more good friend of yours. The reason why the two of you are not as close as you and Aomine for example because Atsushi lives far away from you. So the two of you meet only during the tournaments, friendly matches or whenever Atsushi comes to buy limited sweets. Since Kaijou has never played against Yousen, you and Atsushi met for the first time when you helped Vorpal Swords team. You enjoyed teasing Atsushi but also shared with him some homemade sweets earning respect from this overgrown baby. He likes the way you're so calm and relaxed, he comes to you during a short breaks to ask you for some snacks (he's well aware that you're only person among the managers who gives a normal food instead of poison) or to rest his head on your laps or shoulder. When the two of you hang out together, you usually have a lazy days or take a gastronomic tour, tasting food, snacks, sweets and everything you two want.

Hanamiya Makoto has a crush on you. He was sure that only silly and naive girls can attract his attention. Just to end up falling for cool and sassy manager of Kaijou High. Your relationship started when you beat him at the online video game. Then he met you at an arcade and you bet him again. Then he met you during the friendly match between Kaijou and Kirisaki Daichi and your brilliant tactic outsmarted his one. You even did not leave a chance for him to hurt your precious players. And when Makoto tried to mock you and your team? You just put to shame him leaving Makoto angry and... infatuated. Now he even can't understand what he wants the most to crush you or to press you against the wall and kiss until you lose your breath. Oh, it's crazy.

[astrologydray]

♍️Virgo Mc in the each of the degrees♍️

If you have a Virgo Midheaven (MC), your career and public image are shaped by Virgo’s themes of precision, analysis, service, and mastery. You likely thrive in careers requiring problem-solving, organization, and attention to detail, such as healthcare, science, writing, education, research, or business administration.

• 0° Virgo (Aries Point) – A powerful initiator in service-based or intellectual fields. May gain recognition in medicine, science, or social reform.

• 1° Virgo – A perfectionist with strong critical thinking skills. Could succeed in editing, analytics, or quality control.

• 2° Virgo – A talented communicator; could thrive in writing, journalism, or teaching.

• 3° Virgo – An analytical mind, ideal for investigative work, research, or forensics.

• 4° Virgo – A love for learning and refinement; may excel in academia, law, or technical writing.

• 5° Virgo – A meticulous worker; likely to succeed in finance, administration, or data analysis.

• 6° Virgo – Naturally inclined toward healthcare, therapy, or alternative medicine.

• 7° Virgo – A precise, creative thinker; may find success in graphic design, architecture, or craftsmanship.

• 8° Virgo – Drawn to healing professions, including nutrition, physical therapy, or holistic medicine.

• 9° Virgo – A problem-solver with innovative ideas. Could thrive in technology, engineering, or logistics.

• 10° Virgo – A strong educator; may work in teaching, coaching, or mentoring.

• 11° Virgo – A tech-savvy, analytical mind; may excel in IT, cybersecurity, or programming.

• 12° Virgo – A perfectionist in fashion, music, or fine arts. Success through precise craftsmanship.

• 13° Virgo – A highly responsible worker; may thrive in law enforcement, military, or humanitarian work.

• 14° Virgo – Health-conscious with a sharp mind. Could be drawn to dietetics, fitness, or medical research.

• 15° Virgo – A master of writing, editing, or academic research.

• 16° Virgo – Business-minded; excels in consulting, financial planning, or business strategy.

• 17° Virgo – A detail-oriented expert; could work in surgery, pharmaceuticals, or scientific research.

• 18° Virgo – A deep humanitarian drive; drawn to nonprofits, environmental work, or psychology.

• 19° Virgo – A critical thinker who excels in law, politics, or policy-making.

• 20° Virgo – A master of their craft; recognized for expertise in specialized fields.

• 21° Virgo – Exceptionally intellectual; may thrive in philosophy, academia, or technical writing.

• 22° Virgo – An innovative thinker; could work in product design, systems development, or efficiency consulting.

• 23° Virgo – A strong researcher; may specialize in history, archeology, or science.

• 24° Virgo – An excellent communicator; may succeed in broadcasting, publishing, or public relations.

• 25° Virgo – A sharp and strategic mind; could work in legal fields, investigative journalism, or intelligence.

• 26° Virgo – A healer at heart; may be drawn to nursing, surgery, or psychological counseling.

• 27° Virgo – A gifted analyst; could thrive in economics, data science, or cybersecurity.

• 28° Virgo – A precise and disciplined artist; success in sculpture, architecture, or technical art.

• 29° Virgo (Anaretic Degree) – A master strategist, perfectionist, or critic. Success comes through expertise, refinement, and precision. However, may struggle with overanalyzing or career indecision.

[pancakeke]

a breakfast of adderall and mountain dew can only do so much 😔

I know. I can use a spreadsheet to stay organized.

*refuses to make eye contact with the 10 abandoned spreadsheets I previously made for this exact purpose*

[saturnville]

all yours, jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x black fem oc (adeba malina). warnings: sexual insinuations. song: all yours by normani an: I don’t remember the last time I wrote a one-shot this long. and I came out of football retirement for this, so let me know how you like it! 🫶🏾 also, can anyone guess what position I played? 👀

“I don’t have an interest in pursuing a relationship with Jude. He’s a great guy but…”

Jude Bellingham, the world’s wonder boy, had become a staple in her life over the last few months following his multi-million dollar transfer to Real Madrid, but not for the reasons that people thought. They met during a dinner celebrating his transfer and hit it off immediately.

“Congratulations,” she said cooly and sat next to the young footballer. When her voice registered in his ears and her face came into view, his eyes grew wide and he looked like a child in a candy store. “I’m Adeba Malina.”

She needed no introduction. He knew exactly who she was. Former Madridista turned business-woman. She was known as one of the greatest center midfielders of her time; her speed, agility, and vision for a pathway to the goalbox were praised by the highest of heavens. Ronaldo’s protege and a Madrid icon. Adeba Malina was a football legend.

“Jude.” His hand engulfed hers as he shook it firmly yet delicately. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Adeba pushed a strand of hair away from her face and nodded once, taking in the footballer with a quick sweep of her eyes. He wore a crisp black suit with a complimentary black tie against the freshly pressed white shirt. He was handsome, but she didn’t let her mind go past that. Rather she said, “I trust you’ll do big things with Los Blancos. I’m excited to see what you do on the pitch.”

He was bashful, she noticed, his brown skin suddenly growing red and a small smile on his lips, “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

“No problem at all. You enjoy your dinner, but a piece of advice, if I may.” Jude sat up intently. Adeba leaned over, her lips close to his ear as she tried to speak over the rowdy individuals around her. “You have nothing to prove to anyone. You’re young, gifted, and Black. They’ll do and say anything to make you look bad and to get in your head. Perfect your craft, do your best, and keep moving. There’s nothing to prove.”

Jude met her eyes for the first time that night. The prettiest shade of brown with specks of caramel. They held care and intentionality, just like the words she spoke, and he digested them like his favorite food. It was at that moment that Jude knew she’d be a good person in his life.

“But what?”

Adeba cursed to herself as she sorted through her jerseys for one to wear. Zizou. Ramos. Varane. Ronaldo. Beckham. Rodríguez. Malina. Bellingham. She snatched it off the hangar and onto her bed behind her. It would make do, and it would be cute with her newest navy blue heels and straight-leg jeans. “But,” she started after some time. “He’s younger than me and we’re just friends.”

The woman behind her scoffed audibly. “He’s barely 3 years younger than you, not 12. And you just went through 6 jerseys, knowing you have kits dating back to the 90s, including your own, to wear his, as you do for almost every home match. Don’t play with me.” And there it was. The bluntness and honesty of Colombia’s very own Dawn Nalinja, data analyst turned interior designer.

The two crossed paths at an event in Barcelona four years prior and had been inseparable ever since. So much so that their homes were in the same building, four floors apart. They were quite literally, two peas in a pod.

Adeba sighed and began getting dressed for the match against Dortmund. “Look, I just don’t think every friendship needs to transition to a relationship. Jude is good people and you don’t have to have to romanticize everything with good people.”

Dawn blinked, one, two, three times before sighing. “While that may be true, it’s best to romanticize aspects of your life with a good person, especially before they get swiped by someone else. You won’t know until you give it a try and that goes for anyone, not just Jude. But, we’ll leave that there. Are you ready?”

Adeba slid her feet into her shoes, fluffed her braids, and swiped her purse off the bed. She ignored the feeling within her chest and smiled softly as she tried not to think too hard on what Dawn had mentioned. “Ready!”

-

And as predicted, Los Blancos took the victory. Adeba always adored the energy of the stadium during victories, no matter who won. There was joy in seeing fans jump for joy, holler the chants of their favorite players, and take pictures with the players who’d walked by.

By the end of the match, Dawn had scurried off with her significant other, leaving Adeba to wait in the tunnel for Jude as she typically would.

She tapped her fingers against the wall as she waited for his exit, and when he came into view, the smile she didn’t realize she had on her face widened. “Hey, champ.”

Jude welcomed the greeting and returned it with a hug and a kiss against her cheek. Adeba felt warm as his arm circled around her waist and his fingers brushed against the loops of her jeans. Dangerous territories. “Thank you, Dee. What’re you doing after?”

Adeba shrugged as she stepped back to put distance between them, but it still hadn’t forced his hand to drop from her waist. If anything, it made his grip tighter. She ignored the pulsing between her thighs and said, “I planned to go home.” Her bed was always a wonderful place to be.

Jude nodded once. “Want to come to dinner with me? Not in the mood to party, but I could eat.”

Her head turned to the side and her braids swayed with it. “Just us?” The corner of Jude’s lips rose in amusement at her question. He couldn’t recall a time when them being alone mattered so much before, but with the way her breath quickened, he knew it was deeper than what she let on.

Adeba grew nervous underneath his gaze. His brown eyes were focused on her. How had she not realized how pretty they were? A rich shade of mahogany, a portal to a place unknown.

She exhaled shakily. He answered her question: “Just us.”

-

liked by judebellingham, georginagio, kylianmbappe, and 102,678 others.

adebamalina. hala madrid y nada más. congratulación a los blancos para la victoria 🤍 ft the wonder boy himself

view 3,780 comments

username stunning

username 😍

— adebamalina thank you honey

username the braids!!!

judebellingham 🤍🤍🤍 always grateful for your support

— adebamalina so proud of you.

username. just get tg alr

— judebellingham liked your comment!

username. I know yall saw Jude like her comment!

username. the prettiest wag out!

-- username. girl, she’s not a wag. just a rm legend

-- username. she’s always with jude, so she might as well be. two for one special atp

-- judebellingham liked your comment!

username. real madrid legends fr

— adebamalina and judebellingham liked your comment!

georginagio we still need to have our shopping date!!

— adebamalina I’ll book a flight in a few weeks! and tell Cris and the kids I said hello!

username. okay but fr when are they getting tg?

— saturnville girl idk I haven’t thought that far yet

-

“Stay with me tonight.”

If Adeba lived in an animated world, she would have heard her feet squeal like brakes when she stopped suddenly. She turned slowly to see Jude standing with one hand in his pocket while the other held her blue heels, a straight look on his face. “As in…?” Adeba pushed for further explanation. Sure, they’d hung out before at each other’s places and in other public spaces, but his words hinted at something more.

“Movies, snacks, and I’ll whoop your ass in Uno. Just something chill. I just…didn’t want the night to end this early.”

Adeba sighed heavily. She wanted to deny him. To tell him that wasn’t a line that needed to be crossed. That she was nothing more than a friend, a mentor in a way, to push him to be his best self in his professional and personal life, but how could she? With the way he looked down on her and not in a condemning way. But with a look of adoration. His eyebrows were relaxed and his eyes were soft. His body language spoke of comfortability in her presence with how his shoulders were low and slightly rounded above her body. Like a guard.

She wanted to tell him she’d go home, that she didn’t want to blur any lines. She wanted to admit that she had no feelings for him at all, but then she’d be lying, and one thing Adeba Malina hated was a liar.

Adeba pondered on it longer. Her teeth captured her bottom lip as her mind worked to weigh the pros and the cons. They were friends, just friends. Friends who were potentially spending the night together…alone. With any other guy friend, the idea would have repulsed her. But when it came to Jude, something within her sparked with curiosity at the idea of staying the night with him.

Maybe Dawn was right. If everything aligned, would it be worth a try?

Adeba finally met his eyes again and nodded. “Okay.”

-

“You started playing at 17 for Real. Is that how you met Cristiano?” Jude asked inquisitively and passed the bag of candy to Adeba, who sat on her knees in front of him. She nodded and popped a few Nerds in her mouth.

“Correct. The men’s team came to visit the women’s practice and of course, we’re football fanatics just like you, so having these legends visit us and give us advice was amazing. Cris always gave me good advice, especially being that we both came from nothing. So, I try to pour into you what he and many others pour into me.”

Jude couldn’t help but smile. From what she’d shared, she was Ghana-born and raised in Spain once her parents moved at the age of five. She couldn’t take much with her when traveling to Europe, but what she did take was a soccer ball her father had gotten her, which she kept in a glass case in her jersey closet. Growing up she didn’t have much, but she had her ball, and that was enough for her.

What she didn’t know was that the ball would grant her and her siblings an education, her parents a home, and her family stability that would continue even when she left the Earth. Football saved her in more ways than one. She understood what it was like to fall in love with it and she also understood the challenges that came with it. And that was what she enjoyed sharing with others. The journey of loving the game.

“I appreciate that,” he replied. There was a silence between them, a comfortable one. “I still can’t believe you kicked my ass four times.” His tone was teasing, she knew, but she could hear a hint of seriousness. She shrugged and smiled.

“A torn ACL took me out the game, but you can never take the game out of me, baby. I do this.” It was his turn to get flustered. Baby. It was a casual pet name and he knew she meant nothing by it but he wanted to hear it over and over.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get you back eventually.”

Adeba’s eyebrow raised, “Is this a challenge, Mr. Bellingham?” His eyes met hers. There was a glint of mischief behind her which displayed her fun and teasing nature. But, behind the mischief, her eyes grew darker and the smirk on her lips grew wider, especially as he began to visibly crumble under her gaze.

“Maybe,” was all he could get out.”Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And there it was. The ambiguous statement that left the two of them wondering what the other meant. But she knew. He knew. It was his comment that seemed to shorten the invisible string between them that seemed to wrap around the world. Suddenly, it was just inches long andt the only thing that kept their bodies from pressing against one another’s in a heated exchange of passion.

“Is that so?” Adeba’s tongue circled around her cheek, a subtle action that left Jude’s stomach clenching. He nodded.

The space between them continued to dwindle. They were once separated by the middle cushion of the couch, but now, they could feel the warmth from each other’s breath fanning against their faces. Jude, making the first move, brought his hand to her bare face, fingers caressing her skin. She was so beautiful. Rich complexion with beauty marks and faded acne scars that added to her uniqueness. Her lips were so full. His thumb drummed against them. “Pretty girl…”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Please…”

Before she could say anything else, his mouth was on hers. Adeba felt her inhibitions slip away as their lips moved together. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of kissing him and what it’d be like. She expected something sweet. Nah, this was a grown kiss. Passionate and intense, borderline sloppy and nasty. Exactly how she liked it.

Adeba couldn’t remember how she ended up on her back with her bare legs around his waist as he kissed and sucked along the skin of her neck, but she chose not to think of it too much. She refused to be the reason why the moment was ruined.

Jude enjoyed every moment. From feeling her legs tense around his waist and shuddering as her manicured nails snuck under his shirt to trail along his abdomen to hearing her whisper his name so delicately. Jude. She drove him insane.

But, as much as he wanted to keep going, he knew she deserved more than a heated makeout on his couch at two in the morning with no clear expression of his feelings. So, he broke away from her, which was met with a very cute yet very confused expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Jude smiled and shook his head. He used his thumb to wipe the corners of her mouth which were damp from their heated exchange. “Nothing, I just…I like you a lot. In a more than friends way and I think you should know that before anything else happens. It’s only right.” Adeba’s eyes sparkled at his comment. “And…I’d like to take you out. On a real date. Just us. Then maybe, if you’re up to it, we can see how far this goes.”

Adeba smiled. “I’d like that.”

Damn it, Dawn.

-

6 months later…

liked by judebellingham, normani, justinskye, and 342,890 others

adebamalina my man, my man, my man

view 18,073 comments

dawnnalinjaaaa finally!!!! y’all were pissing me off

-- adebamalina yeah yeah yeah

cristiano ❤️

adebamalina liked your comment!

judebellingham liked your comment!

normani so so so happy for you honey

georginagio double date!!!

username okay hard launch

judefanpage I’m glad he cuffed her before I did

-- username you’re so real for this

-

“Baby, we’ve got somewhere to beeee.” Adeba’s words were dragged out as she grew distracted by his lips against her neck and his front pressed against her back. “Jude…”

He hummed softly, massaging her hips as she struggled to finish the finishing touches on her makeup. They had a date to celebrate their six month anniversary but it seemed as though Jude wasn’t in a hurry to make it to their reservation on time. “You look pretty, love. Pretty and all mine.”

All yours, she replied. Jude’s eyes swept across her body. Adeba looked stunning. She wore a red dress that flowed every step she took. Her hair was curly, her makeup was bright and beautiful, and of course, her full lips were just begging to be kissed.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her makeup products down. She turned in his arms and smiled. Her hands were against his chest and she soothed his suit jacket with her palms. “You look very handsome as always. Let’s go.”

Adeba took a step back to go find her heels and purse, but was stopped by his lips on hers. Jude swallowed every moan she released and allowed it to fuel the fire that burned within him. She circled her arm around his neck as their kiss intensified. She’d never get enough of this.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her lips.

Adeba smiled. “I love you too.”

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

you already know what i’m gonna ask for lol. i need my airport man my love. what do you think would’ve happened if he asked me for my number instead of WALKING AWAY or if i magically found him in duty free. BETTER YET what if he just happened to be on the same flight as me?

let’s pretend airport man is steve rogers please. the blonde and that accent gives steve vibes.

Need A Hand? - 1

PAIRINGS: Steve Rogers x Reader

SUMMARY: Flying back to Washington for a family event, you were already ready for it to be over in a week. You didn't want to face the comments from your family about your life as a single working woman. But what happens when you walk into the event accompanied by the stranger you sat next to on the plane? What if that stranger isn't really a stranger?

WARNINGS: Swearing, comments about loneliness from family members, a creepy guy

WORD COUNT: 1,877

ENJOY!

You knew the coffee was cold before the liquid hit your tongue, but you still needed the caffeine. Tipping your head back, you downed the whole thing quickly.

Wincing at the bitter taste, you threw the cardboard cup in the nearest trash can. You knew a 2am flight wouldn’t be the best experience, but you were not going to drive all the way.

You were on the last available flight. You knew your dumbass should’ve booked an earlier ticket, but can you really blame yourself? It’s the middle of December, and people are being stuffed onto planes, wanting to get back to their families for Christmas.

You?

You didn’t want to visit Washington; you had already built your life in the city.

Your family was shocked when you finally revealed you got the position as a Data Analyst at Stark Industries; however, they were even more shocked at your urgency to move ASAP.

They didn’t know that the reason you moved to NYC was because you wanted to leave the nagging and constant subtle unwanted comments behind. It would’ve been one month since you last visited home for Thanksgiving, which didn’t turn out great either; your grandmother made comments on how you didn’t have a man yet.

Rolling your carry-on behind you with one hand, you adjusted the backpack hanging off your shoulders with the other. Your eyes scanned the large gate numbers in hopes of finding the right one.

GATE 23.

You sighed and started heading in the direction of your gate. When you did find a seat in the plethora of people, you called dibs with your eyes and sat down, scrolling mindlessly on social media for the next half an hour.

-------

The aisle seat was somewhat ideal; economy wasn’t the best, but it was something you had to deal with for the next three hours. The man next to you had already started becoming a problem. He started small talk, and you gave in for a while.

“Going to see family?” he asked, looking at you with a wide grin.

You returned a pursed smile, not really wanting to interact with strangers this early in the morning.

 “Yeah, family stuff,” you replied, securing your seatbelt and tightening it to fit your waist.

The questions were normal until the man started getting personal. “Got a boyfriend?” he smiled sleazily, and you cringed on the inside.

You fake smiled and replied, “no.” He nodded and gave you a weird smirk. “Why? You’re a gorgeous thing.”

You shuddered slightly and went back to looking at your phone, but he didn’t get the signal. The suggestions he kept throwing your way made you want to gag.

Thankfully, a flight attendant did see you become uncomfortable for a while, and she, in a few minutes, made her way to you.

“Ma’am, we do have a seat up front in business class. In case you are up for the offer?” She smiled sweetly at you but harshly at the man next to you.

You nodded and got up immediately. “I’d like that,” you said, smiling at your savior. “See ya,” you said bitterly to the man next to you and followed the flight attendant after getting your carry-on down from the cabin.

-------

The seats were plusher and nicer; you groaned in comfort when you sank yourself into it. You were sipping on some wine the flight attendant, the one that helped you, poured into a glass and handed over to you.

You gazed outside through the window, enjoying your peace and quiet, until someone cleared their throat in the aisle.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but I, um, I’m your neighbour for the next few hours,” the infamous blonde man chuckled shyly and scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry,” you got up quickly and allowed him to sidle past your seat and sit down, then he shoved his backpack under the seat in front of him. You sat back down and continued to sip on your wine, feeling a tad bit awkward sitting next to Captain America.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” he extended his hand.

You shifted the glass to your left hand, then told him your name while shaking his hand with your right. “I mean, yeah, I know who you are already. So…” you laughed nervously. He chuckled at your answer, “yeah?” To which you nodded again and went back to staring at the seat in front of you.

The lights in the plane dimmed, and you flagged down a flight attendant to hand your glass back to her. Members of the crew made their way up and down the aisle until three of them settled in three different sections of the plane to start the safety demonstration You listened mindlessly, while your heart jogged for a mile as the thought of sitting next to Steve Rogers finally sank in. He did listen to the safety demonstration and actually read the safety brochures, which were tucked into the seat in front of him. Soon, the flight attendants were preparing for take-off.

“What’s taking you to Washington?” Steve asked you, facing your direction. You made eye contact and saw the soft smile he threw your way; you instantly melted in your seat and smiled back.

“Oh, my sister is getting married,” you nodded and adjusted the neck pillow around your neck. He nodded and crossed his arms over his muscled chest. “I see.”

“What about you? I’m guessing something related to ‘Captain America’?” You chuckled nervously as you felt the plane rumble slightly. He laughed at your assumption, “you would think so, but no. Just wanted to visit the place again.”

You nodded in understanding but quickly reached for the armrest when the plane started speeding. You gripped the plastic hard and closed your eyes hard, trying to act normal when really you felt like you were in a washing machine.

“Here,” you heard him whisper. You slowly opened your eyes and saw the big open palm he was offering. You smiled in thanks, grateful for understanding, and intertwined your fingers with his before squeezing it for dear life as the plane lifted from the ground.

-------

You munched on the dry Biscoff’s they handed out during the second hour of the flight. From your peripheral, you saw Steve reading a book and at times glancing out the window.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for the… you know… the hand, during take-off,” you smiled nervously, hoping that you weren’t interrupting him and his reading. He looked up from his book and bookmarked his page before closing it. “Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he smiled at you, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

You always saw him on TV and in the trash magazines your roommate reads, never up close. And now that you were seated literally right next to him, you felt as though he’s just a regular person. It’s not like you can ask him ‘how were the 1940s’, you don’t know him on a personal level.

But you kind of do; you had to study about him in high school during history class. You know where and when he was born, the place where he grew up. Your thoughts were interrupted by the crackling of the pilot’s voice that played through the plane. You couldn’t understand the gibberish he said. “What?”

“We’re about to hit some turbulence,” Steve translated for you, and your jaw dropped.

“Great, more reasons as to why I should’ve driven,” you rubbed your eyes.

 He laughed at your annoyance towards the plane you were currently flying in.

You glanced at the book he was reading and saw the title. You instantly had to hold your laugh back as you recognized the ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ book cover.

“Harry Potter, huh?” You pointed at the book in his lap. He looked down at it and nodded. “A friend of mine recommended it. Have you read it?”

You nodded quickly, “oh yeah, it was one of my favourites as a kid.” He smiled at your response.

“I’m a George Weasley girl, all the way. He’s such an underrated character,” you told him as your eyes moved from the book to him.

“Yeah, I think you could say that. But I would say that Hagrid is underrated as well,” he said, adding to your statement. You nodded along, “that is actually quite true, yeah.”

A moment of silence passed before he broke it. “If you don’t mind me asking, you mentioned about going to a wedding?” he asked, craning his neck to face you. You nodded, affirming his assumption.

“Are you going alone?” That made you raise your brows in pure shock.

“Uh, I—yeah,” you shook the confusion from your head. “Why?” You smiled, wondering why he asked you the semi-personal question.

He tucked his chin to his chest a little bit before facing you with the slightest smirk on his face. “Oh, I just thought that a gorgeous woman like you would have been going with someone already.”

You snorted, “WOW.” You really couldn’t believe he just said that.

“Why is that funny?” he smiled at you, a tad bit confused. You chuckled, “I just-‘gorgeous women’? Really?”

He laughed along with you, “I can’t say I’m wrong.” You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent your grin from expanding any further.

------

The next hour or so was filled with you and Steve talking about home and what you two did back in the city.

“Stark Industries? Really?” Steve was genuinely shocked at the revelation of your workplace. He wondered how he never saw you before. He asked how it was, working as a Data Analyst for Tony, and you replied saying that Tony can be immature sometimes, but he does treat you as an equal, unlike your previous jobs.

The flight went smoothly, and you and Steve were in constant conversation. You thought that you never had a conversation this good before. You were actually a bit disappointed when the pilot announced that the plane was about to land soon.

-------

“Need a hand?” Steve asked when he saw you struggling to get your carry-on from the cabin.

“Yeah,” you nodded sheepishly. He flashed you with one of his million-dollar smiles and effortlessly brought your carry-on down from the overhead shelf. You said your thanks and replied with a ‘No problem’.

-------

Steve finally got all of his bags, but you were still standing next to the belt awaiting your final one.

“I guess this is where we part,” you laughed nervously, toying with the strings of your hoodie.

You saw it in his face; he didn’t want to leave you just yet. And you were thankful for that because you didn’t too.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he smiled, but this time it was sad.

This was bad, really bad. You both didn’t want to leave the other.

“Have a good Christmas,” he finished the sentence off with your name, and your heart fluttered with how it rolled off his tongue. Why did you heart flutter?

You both smiled sadly at each other for the final time before he reluctantly parted ways. Why did he hesitate?

💌💌💌

Genuinely upset you couldn't get your man @yiiiikesmish, hope this helps you soothe your woes babes.

Again, if any of you lovelies want be added to the taglist. Please comment here!!🤗🤗🤗

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀