#how to learn maths from the beginning

[corellianhounds]

Idk why everyone thinks Crosshair was the chaotic misbehaving brother as a cadet. Mr. “Good soldiers follow orders” even without the chip? Mr. “Loyal to the Empire” even after they destroyed all Kaminoan cities and facilities and didn’t care enough to come back and see if there were any survivors? Mr. “Not immediately swayed by emotional convictions” even when they belong to those closest to him who he should trust above unseen authorities?

Even if you think obedience and compliance was hammered into him by those in charge and he had to learn to keep his head down or face the consequences, that doesn’t explain why it takes him so long to eventually accept the truth, despite the mounting empirical evidence he receives after the most dire possible circumstances that should show him that those in charge are wrong. It isn’t until Mayday’s death that Crosshair finally accepts the truth because it’s then that he’s being directly told by the people in charge that he and everyone like him is expendable and unnecessary.

Somebody with a rebellious youth is much more critical of authority figures even if they’re presently obeying them, and they’re much more ready to drop said authorities the second it’s a viable option and they physically can. Crosshair doesn’t behave like a dog that’s been beaten its whole life, he’s constantly making active decisions not only to follow the Empire but to enforce what the Empire dictates, even when he’s the one reaping the direct consequences of pushback on the ground for it. Because that’s what good soldiers do.

This guy was the kid following the rules by choice and getting mad at the others for finding loopholes or accomplishing things the ‘wrong’ way, especially if and when it got all of them in trouble (because they were kids and wouldn’t have always been right). Rules and structure are there for a reason. We’ve been here less than ten years, what on earth makes you think we know more than the people in charge? Why do I have to be punished because you guys couldn’t do as you were told?

To me the four of them (and Echo later) are a sliding scale when it comes to decision-making based on head vs heart. Crosshair and Tech are on one side, using logic and reason over emotion as their basis for decision-making and how they see the world, and Echo and Wrecker are more on the heart/instinct side of reasoning, putting people and ideals ahead of simply accomplishing objectives despite what the odds might be against them. Hunter’s the balance in the middle, being able to see both sides and weigh what the best option is based on the evidence and the context within which it’s being given. All of them have different fluctuating percentages of what’s going to motivate or drive them day by day, just based on the context of their circumstances, but that’s the general scale.

I think Hunter as a kid probably realized if he could get all of them to learn the rules as quickly as they could, then they’d know how to break them effectively with the least amount of repercussions and collateral damage. They were an experimental group for a reason and were likely given a modicum of wiggle room when it came to problem-solving, the Kaminoans not just allowing but pushing them to be more creative, flexible, and adaptable. They all know the hard rules of structure, chain of command, and behavioral compliance, but after that they’re given more freedom of choice. Their personal convictions inform both the why and how of following orders.

Wrecker is easier to figure out because he wears every thought and emotion on his sleeve and sees no reason not to. He’s more of a follower— Thinking is for other people, he’s a busy guy and man of action, give him something concrete with actionable directions and he’ll accomplish it with aplomb.

Tech, as a kid, likely knew both the spirit and letter of the law, which means he could see problems and solutions objectively regardless of his personal feelings/opinions and knew that rules are there to be guidelines: No structure is perfect and always following rules exactly was never going to always be the right decision. He would choose whichever seemed like the most logical, obvious route to success, finding loopholes and workarounds where he could as a means of balancing the consequences or fallout of said decision.

Hunter also knew both the spirit and letter of the law, but he was able to read situations and people better than Tech was, relying more on his gut instinct to tell him what the best course of action would be, even if that choice wasn’t the most logical. He’s a mediator and the best choice of leader because of his ability to get people working together by knowing how to convince each of them in their own way that this plan will accomplish their objective AND lead to the most amount of people being satisfied/happy in the end, them included. Despite the fact Hunter’s more reserved, he’s still a people person. It just happens to come from empathy, observation, and instinct, the latter two being qualities he was designed to specialize in.

Crosshair obeyed the letter of the law because structure exists for a reason and if that structure has yielded the best results and most success for the longest amount of time, then it’s obvious it must be the right one in place. Loopholes can be taken advantage of, but only when there isn’t an explicit wording against it or there is clear and mounting evidence that the rule doesn’t apply to him. To deviate from the majority in matters of how something is achieved is acceptable; to do so in matters of why is not.

[cillyscribbles]

джелли должны однаж- [megaphone connects] ДЖЕЛЛИ ДОЛЖНЫ ОДНАЖДЫ В ГОД,

[wizardnuke]

nasa i have nothing to offer you. please let me intern.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Contemplating the concept of "potential" when it comes to intelligence and realizing how heartbreaking Logan's "Dreams come true, that's news to me" line in the Crofters Musical.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[flux1563]

Seeking attention ft karina

Words :7k

Tags : squirt, titfuck, creampie

"You're not listening to me, Karina," groaned her friend Winter, her voice cutting through the buzz of the crowded cafeteria.

Karina's eyes snapped back to Winter, a hint of annoyance flashing across her face before she plastered on a smile. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I said, you're not listening again," Winter repeated with a knowing look. "You've had your eyes on him all week."

"Him?" Karina played coy, but her cheeks betrayed a soft blush as they turned towards the figure Winter indicated—Y/N, the enigmatic scholar who sat at the corner of the room, nose buried in a book. His tall frame and chiseled features made him the center of attention without even trying, yet he remained oblivious to the whispers that followed him. "What about him?"

Winter rolled her eyes. "Come on, Karina. You can't ignore the fact that every guy in class wants a piece of you, but you're pining over the one who barely notices anyone exists outside of his textbooks."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the start of another dreaded afternoon class. Karina's heart skipped a beat as she gathered her books, her thoughts racing. Winter's words echoed in her mind—everyone else saw her as the object of desire, but she only had eyes for the unattainable. The one who didn't seem to care about her curves or her smile. The one who was perfect for her, yet so out of reach.

As the students shuffled out, Karina took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge she was about to undertake. She had to get Y/N's attention somehow. She had to make him see her beyond her body. An idea began to form in her mind—she would ask him for help with her homework. It was a simple plan, but it was a start.

That evening, Karina found herself standing nervously outside Y/N's apartment, her heart pounding in her chest. She had sent him her address earlier in the day, hoping he wouldn't think it strange. The door creaked open, and there he was—his piercing gaze meeting hers, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Hi," she managed to squeak out, her voice betraying her nerves. "I, uh, I need help with my homework."

Y/N looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside to let her in. "Follow me," he said, his voice low and even.

The apartment was small but meticulously organized. Textbooks and notepads lined the shelves, and a faint scent of coffee lingered in the air—a stark contrast to the chaos that was Karina's own living space. She followed him to a clutter-free desk, her eyes scanning the room for any personal touches that might give her a glimpse into his soul. But there were none, just the cold embrace of academia.

He sat down and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. "What do you need help with?"

Karina's mind went blank. The words she had rehearsed on the way over escaped her. "Everything," she blurted out, feeling like a fool.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Everything is a broad subject. Be specific."

Her cheeks burned as she opened her book to a random page, her thoughts racing. This wasn't going how she had planned. "Just...just math," she stuttered. "I'm really bad at math."

For a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of something warm in his gaze before it was gone, replaced by the cold detachment she had come to expect from him. "Alright," he said, pulling out a notepad and pen. "Where shall we begin?"

And so, the night of tutoring began—a dance of numbers and formulas that Karina stumbled through, eager to impress him with her ability to learn. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more she needed to do to capture his heart. Little did she know, the real lesson of the evening was just about to start.

Y/N's patience was unyielding, breaking down complex problems into bite-sized pieces that she could digest. His eyes never left her face, watching as she struggled, nodded, and finally, clicked with the material. It was as if he could see into her mind, understanding her thought process and gently guiding her to the right answers. The way he spoke—so calm, so certain—was like a balm to her frazzled nerves.

As the hours ticked by, Karina's mind began to wander. The way Y/N's fingers moved with precision across the page, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he concentrated, the way the light hit his sharp jawline—it all painted a picture of a man who was more than just intellect. He was a masterpiece of focus and discipline, and she found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn't anticipated. Her thoughts grew hazier, and the room felt hotter, her heart racing as she stole glances at his strong arms.

The math grew simpler, but the air grew thicker with tension. Each time their eyes met, there was a spark—quick and fleeting, but it was there. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she wondered if he felt the same. She tried to shake off the thoughts, telling herself to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The more he taught her, the more she found herself adoring him—not just for his brains, but for the way he made her feel seen.

Her bladder finally decided it had had enough of the emotional rollercoaster and interrupted her thoughts. "I need to go to the bathroom," she said, a bit too loudly, her face flushing deeper.

Y/N looked up from the book, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he nodded towards a hallway. "First door on the left," he said, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

In the bathroom, Karina took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The idea that had popped into her head in the cafeteria now seemed silly and desperate, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to do something drastic. With a shaky hand, she turned the faucet the wrong way, watching as the water spurted out and drenched her shirt. Her heart raced as she called out, trying to sound more panicked than she felt. "Y/N! Help, the sink's broken!"

The footsteps grew closer, and the door swung open. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of her, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "What happened?"

"I...I don't know," she lied, trying to look as flustered as possible. "It just sprayed everywhere." Water droplets clung to her lashes and trickled down her neck, her shirt clinging to her skin.

Without a word, he stepped in, his movements efficient as he turned off the faucet and began to mop up the mess. The tension in the room was palpable, and Karina felt her breath hitch as his arm brushed against hers. This was it—her chance to get closer, to show him she wasn't just a pretty face.

He handed her a towel, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. The fabric of her shirt had grown translucent in the dampness, the lacy outline of her black bra visible beneath it. She knew he could see it, could see the curve of her breasts and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Summoning all her courage, Karina took a step closer, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out to him. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of skin on skin, but as he didn't pull away, she grew bolder. She felt the towel drop from her hand as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Y/N's body stiffened for a moment, but then, to her surprise, he relaxed into the embrace. His hands found their way to her waist, holding her gently as he returned the kiss with an intensity that made her knees wobble. Karina's pulse raced as she felt his warmth envelop her, his scent overpowering the lingering smell of ink and coffee in the room. It was everything she had hoped for and more.

Breaking away, she whispered, "Just touch my breast, dear." Her voice was a breathy plea, her eyes searching his for any sign of rejection. For a moment, she thought he might push her away, that she had crossed a line she shouldn't have. But instead, his eyes searched hers, as if looking for an answer she hadn't given. Then, ever so slowly, his hand moved up, his thumb brushing the fabric of her shirt before sliding beneath to graze the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

"Ahh," Karina moaned as his hand finally reached its destination, cupping her breast gently. The feeling was exquisite, and she leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. His thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple, eliciting a whimper from her lips. The warmth of his hand seeped through her damp shirt, sending shivers down her spine.

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N reached behind her and deftly unclasped her bra. It fell away, revealing her full, round breasts to the cool air. He took a step back, his eyes drinking in the sight of her exposed flesh. The look of amazement on his face was all the validation Karina needed—she was more than just a pretty face.

"You should be proud of yourself, Y/N," she murmured, her voice filled with passion. "Everyone in this university wants my body, but they can't have it because I've fallen in love with you."

Y/N's gaze remained locked on her, his expression unreadable, but his actions spoke louder than words. His other hand found its way to her other breast, kneading it gently as he bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth. The sensation was heavenly, and Karina's back arched as a soft moan escaped her. She had dreamt of this moment, of feeling his warm breath against her skin, his lips wrapped around her sensitive flesh. His tongue danced around the peak, flicking and suckling, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Encouraged by his responsiveness, Karina grew bolder. She reached for the button of his pants, her trembling hand slipping it free and pushing the fabric down just enough to reveal his thick, hard erection. She couldn't believe what she was seeing—nine inches of pure masculine beauty, the girth of it making her mouth water. "Oh, my god," she murmured, her eyes going wide.

Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, a mix of surprise and arousal. He didn't protest as she guided him to sit on the edge of the tub, his back against the wall. "What are you doing?" he breathed, but she could see the desire in his eyes.

"I never knew you had such an...impressive size," Karina said, her voice a seductive purr. She knelt before him, her eyes never leaving his as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, feeling the heat and power of him. "It's like you're holding a piece of the universe."

Y/N's cheeks colored slightly at her words, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. "I've never had anyone...measure me up quite like that," he said, his voice thick with desire.

Karina's hand looked almost comical around his length, her fingers not even coming close to touching her thumb. "Look, my hand can't even wrap around it," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You're just too big."

Y/N's smile grew wider, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I've been told I'm...gifted," he said, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of arrogance.

Karina couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the bathroom. "Gifted is an understatement," she said, her hand still stroking him. "But I'm going to need two hands for this."

With a sly smile, she leaned in closer, her ample breasts pressing against his thighs. "Do you like it when my boobs wrap around you?" she asked, her voice playful and full of mischief.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. "I...uh...yes," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

With a knowing smile, Karina leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his thighs as she began to move her body up and down in a rhythmic motion, her nipples grazing his shaft with every pass. The feeling was exquisite, and she watched with rapt attention as his expression grew more intense. Her breasts moving faster and faster around his thick cock.

"Karina," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut as she worked him with her body. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum on my boobs," she whispered, her voice a siren's call. "I wanna feel it on me, I wanna feel you in me."

The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt him tense, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he let out a deep groan. Warm, sticky cum shot out, covering her breasts and chest in a hot, pulsing wave. She moaned in pleasure, feeling the warmth spread over her sensitive skin. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, and she reveled in the power she had over him in that moment.

Panting, Y/N opened his eyes, looking down at her. His gaze was a mix of shock and lust as he took in the sight of her cum-covered breasts. "I've never..." he trailed off, unable to find the words to express his thoughts.

"It's okay," she murmured, standing up and reaching for him. "We're just getting started."

Their clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, Karina led Y/N to the bedroom, her eyes never leaving his. The air was charged with desire as they tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and valley, worshipping her in a way she had never felt before.

He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as she straddled him, her wetness coating his stomach. His cock was still semi-hard, and she felt it nudge against her inner thigh, sending a thrill through her. She wanted more—needed more.

With a seductive smile, Karina slid off him and lay down on the bed, her legs spread wide. "Keep playing with me," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper.

Y/N's eyes darkened as he complied, his fingers moving back to her swollen clit. He teased it mercilessly, circling and flicking, watching as she writhed and moaned beneath him. Her hips rose and fell, seeking the friction she craved, and he took the opportunity to glide his fingers down her body, tracing the path of her curves before returning to her core.

Her breath hitched as he pushed a finger inside her, feeling the warm, wet embrace of her pussy. It was tight and slick, and he could feel her muscles contract around him as he began to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched her face, memorizing every expression that played across her features—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the soft moans that escaped her lips, the way her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

He added another finger, curling them inside her as he continued to rub her clit with his thumb. Karina's moans grew louder, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm close," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut. "So close."

"Cum for me, Karina," he urged, his voice thick with need. "Let go."

And with that, she did. Her body arched off the bed, a high-pitched scream tearing from her throat as she came, her pussy clamping down on his fingers. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before—intense and overwhelming. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

As her orgasm subsided, Y/N didn't give her a moment to catch her breath. He kissed his way down her body, his mouth finding her sensitive clit once more. He began to suck and lick with renewed vigor, his tongue swirling around the swollen nub in a way that made her hips buck against his face.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her eyes flying open. "Oh, oh, oh!"

Y/N felt the warmth of her climax flood over his face, a salty sweetness that only added to his own arousal. Karina's body convulsed above him, her legs trembling and her toes curling as she squirted like a fountain, her juices spraying across his cheeks and chin. It was a sight he had only ever seen in porn, but here it was, happening in real life. He lapped at her, eager to taste every drop, his cock pulsing with need.

Her body finally went lax, her breathing ragged and her skin glistening with sweat. Y/N sat back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, a look of wonder on his own. "I've never seen that before," he said, his voice filled with awe.

Karina giggled, a lightness to her tone that hadn't been there before. "I've never done that before," she admitted, a shy smile playing on her lips. "But with you, it just feels...right."

He leaned in, kissing her deeply, tasting her on his tongue. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer to him. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The words sent a thrill through her, and she felt a newfound confidence bloom inside her. This wasn't just a physical attraction anymore—it was something deeper, something she hadn't even realized she craved. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was desire—pure, unbridled lust that mirrored her own.

Without another word, Karina swung her leg over him, straddling his waist. His cock stood at attention, and she took it in her hand, feeling the weight of him, the heat and power of his arousal. She positioned herself over his tip, her heart racing as she lowered herself down. The first inch was tight, a slight burn that made her gasp, but she didn't stop. She wanted all of him—needed all of him.

Y/N watched with bated breath, his eyes never leaving hers as she took him in. His hands found her hips, guiding her, urging her to take more. She felt the head of his cock push against her tight entrance, and then with a sudden, desperate need, she slammed herself down onto him. The pain was there, but it was overshadowed by the pleasure—a white-hot spark that ignited within her.

"Ahh, you're so deep," Karina screamed, her voice echoing off the walls of the small room. His cock filled her completely, stretching her in a way that she had never felt before. She paused, panting, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so completely filled. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she began to rock her hips, sliding up and down his length.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in his head, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. "You're so tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of not losing control. "So fucking tight."

Karina's nails dug into his chest as she took him deeper, her body moving in a rhythm that was both agonizing and exhilarating. Each time she slammed down onto his cock, she felt him hit a spot deep within her that no one else had ever reached. It was a feeling she had only dreamed of, a feeling that made her feel alive. "Ahh, so good," she moaned, her voice breathy and full of need.

Y/N watched her, his eyes dark with desire. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her muscles clenching as she grew closer to the edge. "Cum for me again, Karina," he ground out, his own release building.

Obeying his command, Karina raised her pace, her hips moving faster and faster as she chased the elusive orgasm. She could feel it building, the pressure growing until it was all she could focus on. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back.

Then it hit her—a wave of pleasure so intense that it stole her breath away. "Ahhhh," she screamed, her pussy spasming around Y/N's thick cock as she squirted against his belly. He watched in amazement as a gush of liquid spurted out, painting his stomach and chest with her essence. The sight was erotic, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Now it's my turn, Karina," Y/N growled, his eyes dark with need as he raised his hips to meet her thrusts. "Let's come together."

His words sent a jolt of excitement through her, and she eagerly leaned into his rhythm, her body moving in perfect sync with his. She could feel him swelling inside her, the heat of his climax building with every stroke. The room was a symphony of moans and skin slapping together, the sweet scent of sex hanging heavily in the air.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N buried himself to the hilt, and Karina felt his warmth flood her as he came with a roar "AHHHHHH". Her own orgasm crashed over her, a second wave of pleasure so intense it left her trembling. She threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream, as she felt herself squirt again. It was as if her body was claiming him, marking him as hers.

Collapsing onto his chest, Karina tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Y/N's chest heaved beneath her, his cock still hard and pulsing inside her. She felt the sticky warmth of their combined releases, the evidence of their passion smearing between them as she moved.

They lay there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. The weight of his body was comforting, anchoring her to the world. The feel of his heart beating against her cheek was reassuring, a steady rhythm that matched her own racing heart.

Finally, Y/N pulled out with a groan, and Karina felt a sense of loss as his cock slipped from her. He rolled to the side, taking her with him, and they lay there, their limbs tangled together. She could feel his softening length against her thigh, the stickiness between her legs a constant reminder of what they had just shared.

The silence grew heavier, and Karina felt a twinge of nerves. What came next? Would this be a one-time thing, or had she finally broken through his icy exterior? She turned to look at him, his eyes closed, his face a picture of peace. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her with a softness she had never seen before. "For what?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"For making me feel...important," she said, the words spilling from her lips before she could stop them. "For noticing me for more than just my body."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're more than just a pretty face, Karina," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Much, much more."

The words were a balm to her soul, and she nestled closer to him, her heart swelling with happiness. The night had started as a simple homework session, but it had turned into so much more—a confession of feelings she had never dared to hope would be reciprocated.

But as the reality of what had just happened sank in, Karina felt a flicker of fear. This was uncharted territory for her—she had never been with someone who valued her mind as much as her body. Would she be able to keep his interest? Would she be enough for him?

Y/N must have felt her tension, because his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. "Don't worry," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I've noticed you for a long time now. And I like what I see."

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through her, and she let herself relax into his embrace. For now, she was content to lay there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking and the promise of what was to come.

But as the moments ticked by, Karina grew restless. She knew she couldn't just lie there forever—there was still so much to explore, so much more of him to experience. With a sultry smile, she rolled off of him, her body still sticky with their combined arousal. "Now get all on fours," Y/N said, his voice a command that sent a thrill through her.

Without a second thought, Karina did as he asked, her hands and knees sinking into the plush comforter. She felt his body shift behind her, the heat of him a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. "What kind of stamina do you have?" she asked playfully, peeking over her shoulder at him.

Y/N's eyes never left hers as he lined himself up with her wet, pink opening. "Let's find out," he replied, a smug smile playing on his lips. With one powerful thrust, he pushed into her, filling her completely. Karina gasped "ahhh", the sensation of his thick cock stretching her was almost too much to handle. It was a feeling she had never experienced before—like a mix of pleasure and pain that left her breathless.

He didn't give her any time to adjust. Instead, he began to pound into her, his hips moving with a fierce, almost brutal rhythm. His hand found her hair, and he gripped it tightly, pulling her head back as he slammed into her again and again. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl and her nails dig into the bed. "AHHHH!" she screamed, the sound a mix of pleasure and surprise.

Karina felt herself stretching to accommodate him, her body adjusting to the relentless onslaught of his thick cock. It was a delicious pain, a feeling she had never experienced before. Each time he hit the deepest part of her, she felt an intense pressure that bordered on unbearable—but she never wanted him to stop. "Yes," she panted, her voice barely audible. "Harder, Y/N. Just like that."

Y/N complied, his movements becoming more forceful. He could feel her body tensing, her muscles clenching around him as she grew closer to climax. He watched her in the mirror, the sight of her bouncing breasts and arched back making him even more determined to push her over the edge. "I'm gonna squirt again," she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Do it, Karina. I want to feel you come all over my bed."

And with that, she did. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body with a force that made her see stars. Her pussy spasmed around him, gripping his cock like a vice as she squirted uncontrollably. The bed beneath her grew wet, the fabric soaking up her juices as they spurted out in a torrent.

Y/N's hand didn't stop moving, his palm connecting with her ass cheek with a loud smack. She yelped, the pain mixing with pleasure, sending another bolt of sensation straight to her clit. It was a delicious cycle—each spank making her cum harder, each orgasm making her more sensitive to his touch.

"Yess..." she gasped, pushing back into him. "Spank my ass, baby."

He complied with a smack that was harder than the last, and Karina's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth forming a perfect O of pleasure. "U like that, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a dark growl.

"Yes, I do," Karina moaned, her body begging for more. Each slap of his hand against her flesh sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, making her pussy clench around his cock.

"You're such a good girl," Y/N said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to pound into her. "So responsive to pain."

The smacks grew more intense, each one sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Karina could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure in her pussy growing tighter with every hit. "AHHHHH," she screamed, her voice raw and needy. "Y/N, I'm gonna cum again!"

He leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "Come for me, baby," he murmured. "Come all over my cock."

With a final, hard spank, Karina's body shattered into a million pieces, her orgasm consuming her completely. She screamed his name as she squirted once more, her pussy flooding him with her release. Y/N groaned, the feeling of her tightening around him too much to resist. He thrust into her one last time, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside her.

Their bodies went still, both of them panting and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared climax. Y/N leaned down, kissing her neck and shoulder before slowly withdrawing. Karina felt the emptiness acutely, a sudden coldness where he had been so warm and hard.

They lay there for a moment, their limbs entangled, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Then, with a soft groan, Y/N rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was nestled against his side.

Karina lay down beside him, her heart racing. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened. It was more than she had ever dreamed of—more than any of the fantasies she had concocted in her loneliest moments. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "For giving me an orgasm that no one else ever has."

Y/N's eyes searched hers, his expression unreadable. "It was nothing," he said, but the tenderness in his voice belied his words. He stroked her hair, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're welcome to come over for homework help anytime."

The room was quiet, the only sounds their breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Karina felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of belonging that was new and exhilarating. "I will," she said, her voice filled with promise. "As long as you don't mind me...distracting you like this."

A smirk played on his lips, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I don't mind," he said, his voice low and intimate. "In fact, I might just enjoy it."

With that, Y/N pulled her to her feet, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Karina giggled, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her back to the bathroom. The cold tiles against her back were a stark contrast to the warmth of their bodies, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

He set her down gently, his hands sliding down her body to grip her ass. "Bend over," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. Karina complied eagerly, her hands braced against the cool porcelain of the sink. She felt his cock nudge against her wetness, and she pushed back, eager for more.

Y/N didn't disappoint. With one swift motion, he plunged into her from behind, his cock filling her completely. Karina gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt him stretch her open. He began to move, his hips slapping against her ass as he fucked her with a ferocity that left her trembling.

Each thrust was punctuated by a smack, his hand coming down hard on her ass cheek. The sound echoed through the bathroom, mingling with her cries of pleasure. "Oh, fuck," she moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch. "You're so rough."

"You love it," he grunted, his hand coming down again, this time harder. "You love it when I spank your pretty ass."

And she did. The sting of his hand only made her more aroused, her pussy clenching around him as she pushed back to meet each of his movements. The mirror in front of her was foggy with steam, their reflection distorted but unmistakable. She watched as he claimed her, his hand rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his strokes.

Her body felt alive, each touch a spark that ignited a fire deep within her. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter and tighter with every smack. "Yes," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Keep going."

Y/N's hand never stopped moving, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Karina's legs began to shake, her body on the edge of something she hadn't felt before. It was as if every nerve ending was alight, every inch of her skin sensitive to his touch.

And then it hit her—a climax so intense it felt like a supernova. Her pussy clamped down on him, her body convulsing as she screamed his name. He didn't stop, his hand never faltering, his cock plunging into her with a relentless pace. "Cum for me," he growled, his voice a dark command that sent shivers down her spine.

And cum she did, her pussy spasming around him as she squirted once again. Y/N watched in amazement, his own release building until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, brutal thrust, he came deep inside her, filling her with his warmth.

They stood there, panting and shaking, for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the dull thud of their hearts and the distant rush of the shower. "You're mine," Y/N murmured, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear.

Karina leaned back into him, her body still trembling. "Yes," she whispered, the word a declaration of ownership. "I'm yours."

Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths mingling as they held each other close. The world outside didn't matter anymore—all that existed was the two of them in that small, steamy room.

But eventually, the moment passed, and reality began to creep back in. "We should clean up," Karina murmured, her voice still shaky with the aftermath of pleasure.

Y/N nodded, his arms sliding from around her waist. He stepped back, giving her the space to stand up straight. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and concern.

Karina felt a blush creep up her neck as she turned to face him. She had never been so exposed to anyone before, not even herself in the mirror. But with Y/N, she felt a strange sense of vulnerability that was thrilling rather than terrifying. She watched as he grabbed a towel, his own body still flushed with arousal.

He wrapped the towel around her waist, tucking it in gently. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom. The cold tile felt good against her hot skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room they had just left.

Y/N turned on the shower, the water spraying hot and steamy. He stepped in, pulling her in after him. The water cascaded down their bodies, washing away the sweat and cum that had painted them both. He took a washcloth, his movements deliberate and tender as he began to clean her. The sensation of the cloth moving over her skin, combined with the warm water, was almost too much for her to handle. "You're so gentle," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

He didn't respond, his focus solely on her. He washed her thoroughly, taking his time to pay special attention to her breasts and pussy. His touch was soft but firm, as if he was afraid to break her. Karina felt her body responding to him again, her arousal building once more.

But she knew they couldn't go on like this forever. "We should get out," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're going to turn into prunes."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. "You're right," he said, turning off the water. He stepped out first, grabbing two towels from the rack and handing one to her. They dried each other off, the silence between them a comfortable one.

Once they were both dressed again, Y/N turned to her, his expression serious. "I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low.

Karina felt a sudden knot in her stomach. What was it? Had she done something wrong? "What is it?" she asked, her voice small.

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "I didn't just do this because you're...beautiful," he began, his words tentative. "I did it because I care about you, Karina."

The confession was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. "I know," she said, her voice firm. "And I care about you, too."

He leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek. "I want us to be more than just...this," he whispered, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. "I want to get to know you—all of you."

Karina felt a warmth spread through her chest. "I'd like that," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

The kiss was sweet, filled with all the unspoken promises of a future together. When they pulled away, she knew that this was just the beginning. "Let's go back to the living room," she suggested, taking his hand. "We have the whole night ahead of us."

Y/N nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "I've got an idea," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "How about we start with a movie?"

They settled onto the couch, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passionate encounters. Karina curled up against him, feeling more content than she had in a long time. The TV flickered to life, but neither of them really watched it. Instead, they talked—about their hopes, their fears, their deepest secrets.

And as the night grew darker outside, their bond grew stronger, weaving a web of trust and desire that neither of them wanted to break. For the first time in a long time, Karina felt truly seen—not just for her body, but for the person she was inside.

Y/N pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a fierce embrace as they lay down on the bed, their limbs intertwined. The scent of their lovemaking still lingered in the air, a potent reminder of the passion that had just transpired between them. Karina's heart fluttered in her chest, the feeling of his naked skin against hers both familiar and new.

The sun had just begun to peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across their entwined bodies. The light danced across Y/N's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, a gentle pressure that spoke of affection rather than lust. Karina felt her heart melt a little more with each brush of his lips.

"We should get ready," Y/N murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "We don't want to be late for class."

Karina groaned, burying her face in his chest. "Just five more minutes," she begged, her voice muffled. But she knew he was right—they had to face the world outside of this cocoon of intimacy.

With a sigh, they both sat up, the cold air of the room hitting them like a slap in the face. Karina watched as Y/N stood, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with their combined juices. The sight made her stomach flutter, and she couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled as he reached for his boxers.

They dressed quickly, the act of putting on their clothes almost mundane in comparison to the intensity of the night before. But even as they stepped into the crisp morning air, Karina felt a newfound lightness in her step.

They walked together to the university, her hand in his, their bodies close enough to feel the heat of each other. As they passed other students, she noticed the glances thrown their way—a mix of surprise and envy. Y/N had always been the quiet, brooding genius, and she had always been the flirty, popular one. But now, they were something more—something she hadn't even known she wanted.

Men's eyes followed them, lingering on Karina's curves and the way she leaned into Y/N. They whispered among themselves, their voices filled with disbelief. "How did he get her?" she heard one of them murmur, the words sending a thrill through her.

Y/N seemed oblivious to the attention, his focus solely on her. He held the door open as they entered the lecture hall, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. Karina couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, a swell of happiness that he was hers—at least for now.

As they took their seats, she couldn't stop herself from laying her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his arm. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, his hand coming up to squeeze hers. It was a silent declaration, a promise that no matter what the day brought, they had each other.

The professor droned on about calculus, but Karina's mind was elsewhere. She was lost in the sensation of Y/N's warmth beside her, the feel of his muscles shifting as he took notes, the way his eyes would occasionally flicker over to hers. It was as if their night of passion had forged an unbreakable bond between them, a connection that went beyond the physical.

But she knew it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and she couldn't help but wonder how it would affect their dynamic outside of his apartment. Would he still be cold and aloof in class, or would he treat her differently? And what about the other students—would they whisper and gossip?

Karina pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the steady beat of Y/N's heart beneath her ear. For now, she was content to bask in the warmth of his presence, to revel in the knowledge that she had managed to crack open the shell of the enigmatic student she had been pining for so long.

The rest of the world could wait—for now, all that mattered was the here and now, and the promise of what was to come.

---

Winter's words played on a loop in Karina's mind as she sat in class, unable to focus on the lecture. "I think you got what you wanted, Karina," Winter had said, her voice filled with a knowing smile. "Tell me your stories." Winter's curiosity was palpable, and Karina felt a blush creeping up her neck as she thought of the tales she could now share.

Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, the way Y/N had looked at her with such intensity, his eyes dark with passion. It had been more than just a physical connection—it had been a meeting of minds, a melding of souls that had left her feeling both exhausted and invincible.

Karina leaned back in her chair, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the feel of Y/N's cock sliding into her, the way he had filled her so completely. It had been more than just sex—it had been a declaration of intent, a claiming that she had never experienced before.

But Winter was waiting, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Karina knew she had to tread carefully, to choose her words wisely. After all, this was new territory for her—how did you explain to your best friend that you had not only slept with the guy you've been crushing on for months but had also managed to break through his stoic exterior?

---

"So, what happened?" Winter asked eagerly as they met up for lunch, her eyes wide with anticipation. Karina took a deep breath, her heart racing as she recounted the events of the previous night. Winter's jaw dropped, her eyes never leaving hers as she listened to the details of their steamy encounter.

"You've got to be kidding me," Winter whispered when Karina finished, her voice filled with awe. "You actually did it. You got him to crack."

Karina couldn't help the smug smile that played on her lips. "It wasn't easy," she admitted, "but I think I've figured out the trick."

"Well, spill it," Winter said, leaning in. "I want to know everything."

Karina took a sip of her soda, her mind racing with the memories of Y/N's gentle touch, his fierce passion, and the way he had made her feel. "You just have to be...persistent," she said finally. "And vulnerable. He's not like other guys—you can't just throw yourself at him and expect him to catch you."

Winter nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "So, you had to show him that you're more than just a pretty face," she mused. "That you actually care about him, not just his body."

Karina nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her. "Exactly. And once he saw that, he couldn't resist."

The cafeteria buzzed with the chatter of students, but the two of them sat in their own little bubble, lost in their conversation. Winter's eyes were filled with admiration, and Karina felt a sense of pride that she had managed to do what no one else had.

[thelostconsultant]

Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar finds out he has a son, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to be the father he deserves.

Note: Oscar is in his early 30s in this. Also, I've been going through the trash can (exported posts from the old blog), so most of it might be familiar.

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarifies as he glances over at your boyfriend. You’ve been together for three years, he has been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why isn’t he enough?

But he insists on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you have confirmed that you aren’t married and the biological father is alive, so now they want to have a chat with him. He doesn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father has absolutely no idea he has a child. 

What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son is reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sit by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school is perfect, they know how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you want the best for him. You want to make sure he doesn’t get bored, that he will get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needs.

At the age of five, he can read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he’s a quick study in general. It’s infuriating how he’s a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminds you of him. 

And if you meet F1 fans together, someone surely goes, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that isn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there’s no way you will ever tell him the truth. He has his own, certainly busy life and he probably doesn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he’s good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes isn’t the same as having your own. 

Your son on the other hand can find out when he gets old enough to understand why you left and went no contact with his father. That was over five years ago anyway, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you make sure the few photos of you and Oscar are stored somewhere safe in case he wants to see them when the time comes.

Now you are cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You have no idea if he’s still using that old social media profile of his, but you have to try. So, you take a deep breath and start a video call, deep down hoping he won’t answer. You aren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you have no choice. And then his face shows up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’ve been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asks, although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence follows his words, your brain in overdrive as it try to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward is the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you add, hoping the meaningful look you’re sending his way can be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you can see the wheels turning in his head as he does some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

His face is emotionless for a while as he tries to process the news, but this is nothing new, he’s the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you think he will end the call, he lets out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asks, although you can tell he’s unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumes you want money only makes you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snap. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar puts up a finger as he bites on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asks, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then states, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You don’t have a choice, you know that. If he doesn’t do it for Oliver, he will have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nod. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar begins hesitantly, and you can see as he sits down on his couch and looks up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You can see he’s uncertain about this. He probably understands that becoming his father would mean he will have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there is still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening as he watches you. 

A smile creeps on your lips as you think about this, because it’s so painfully obvious to you that you can’t deny it, no matter how badly you want to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nods. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asks, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he’s quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you have just discussed, and now he’s changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all you say in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he points out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You are doing this only because of the school. You remember what Oscar can be like; if he makes up his mind about something, he definitely isn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wants a week with his son, and you know that’s the only way he will do what you need from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thank him, and are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you reply with a smile.

Oscar remains silent, but he lets out a sigh and you know something is on his mind, something he wants to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admits. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you tell him kindly. 

After you say goodbye, you go up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you get there, they are sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you take the book and lean down to give both of them a soft kiss. You can’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics will change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it isn’t really your son you are worried about, the main issue is your boyfriend. Oscar is a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolizes, of course he feels threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they meet and he sees you are indifferent, he will finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

A bit over a week later Oscar is sitting in his rented car in the school’s parking lot, thinking about how this conversation could go. According to you, they are aware of the fact he didn’t know Oliver existed until recently, so he hopes they don’t expect him to talk about what he’s like. Sure, over the past week he asked you about him, he wanted to prepare for meeting him, but they haven’t met in person. How could he know what to say? After taking a deep breath, he gets out and goes inside, feeling more nervous than he does when he’s getting in the car before a race.

If he’s this nervous now, what will he feel like before meeting his son? 

Spending years in a boarding school prepared him for this meeting, and the principal is everything he imagined him to be. He’s polite, not making a fuss over the fact he is–let’s say–famous. He even apologizes for the mess he caused, saying he understands it was probably quite a shock for him, but this is the protocol, and they can’t make an exception. Oscar keeps nodding, even assuring him it’s okay, although deep down he’s still confused and unsure of things. 

All of this despite his conversation with his mother, who was overjoyed when she saw a video of Oliver, saying he was truly just like him, and she couldn’t wait to have the chance to meet her grandchild in person. But she also told him maybe this was the best thing that could happen to him. Having a child is truly an experience, and since he was still five, they had the chance to have a wonderful relationship. “You say he loves F1. Just imagine how happy he would be if he could go to some race weekends with you. You could teach him so much about racing, and you could bond over that,” she said. 

After he parks in front of your house in the afternoon, Oscar goes to the trunk to get everything he brought with himself. From signed merch from both himself and Lando–just to be sure–to toy racing cars, he has a wide variety of gifts. Something will hopefully become a favorite, an item that he will keep close to himself. Maybe he went overboard, maybe he could’ve brought only one thing, but he had no idea what Oliver liked, so he couldn’t pick just one item. 

“Please, don’t tell me you brought all this for him.”

He looks up with a questioning hum, only to find you standing next to him on the sidewalk. Seeing you again brings back memories of your time together, of all of your little adventures during the short time you spent together, and he can’t help but wonder if you fled because you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t leave him so suddenly, would things be different now? Would you be a big happy family? 

Clearing his throat, he flashes a sheepish smile at you. “I couldn’t choose,” he admits as he grabs the duffel bag and follows you to the front door. He can’t help but wonder what he can expect, and he has to ask you the most important thing. “Did you tell him that he was meeting his father today?” You nod. That’s good. “Is he excited?”

You bite on your lower lip as you watch him, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. But after a short break, you let out a sigh. “He’s a little confused, I think. My boyfriend, Alejandro, met him when he was only two, the three of us spent a lot of time together, and he moved in last year. Oliver… He assumed my boyfriend was his dad, which in a way he is, but we had to sit him down and explain the situation to him,” you say, looking sad all of a sudden. 

It’s clear now why you were so against telling Oliver the truth. You want him to be close to your boyfriend, and you’re probably afraid things between them will change once he gets into the picture. Maybe you’re even afraid things between you and your boyfriend will change too. He can’t blame you for that, but now that he knows he has a son, Oscar wants to be a part of his life. He doesn’t want to be some asshole who ignored his own blood. 

Once inside, he puts the bag on the floor and follows you to the living room where Oliver is watching some cartoon on TV. Now that he sees him in person, he feels warmth spread through his body, because this kid looks exactly like he did at his age. You clear your throat next to him to get your son’s attention, and when the kid notices him, his eyes grow wide from surprise. He gets off the couch and slowly walks over to them, his eyes never leaving his face as he tries to process who their guest is. 

“Hello, Oliver,” Oscar says as he crouches down. 

“You’re Oscar Piastri!” he yells excitedly. 

Oscar can’t help but chuckle at this. “I am.”

You reach out to ruffle your son’s hair, then lean down to be on somewhat eye level with him. “Honey, remember when I said your daddy was going to jump in to see you?” The little boy nods. “It’s Oscar. He’s your dad,” you tell him softly.

Suddenly the excitement is replaced by disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you as he tries to process what he’s just been told. The corners of Oscar’s lips curl into a smile as he watches him, waiting patiently for the child’s decision. 

“So he’s my dad?” Oliver asks, earning a nod from you. “Does this mean I’m a Piastri?” It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “Mom, why am I not called Piastri?”

His eyes move over to you just in time to see you gulp, clearly having trouble figuring out what to say to that. He can’t blame you for your confusion, it probably haven’t occurred to you that one day you will have to respond to this question. 

With a kind smile, he puts a hand on your arm, then turns to his son. “Because I’ve been away for a little too long. But I’m here, your mom and I can discuss if we could change that if you want,” he finishes, barely daring to glance up at you, expecting to meet an angry look in your eyes.

But you don’t look angry, if anything, you seem relieved that he came to your rescue. There’s a glint in your eyes, though, that tells him you aren’t happy that Oliver brought up his surname. As he thinks about it, it occurs to him that you have mentioned how you considered your boyfriend to be his father in a way, so maybe you will have rather given him his name. 

You place a soft kiss on your son’s head, then inform him that you will leave the two of them alone so they can get to know each other. Father and son watches you leave the room, then he turns back to the child with a smile. “I brought you some things. Wanna see them?” he asks him, and when the little boy nods, he goes to grab his bag. 

As he opens the zipper, Oliver stands by his side, watching his every move with a happy smile on his face. Oscar pulls out the gifts, one by one, and can’t hold back his laugh as he watches his son proudly wearing his new baseball cap and shirt as he examines the toy car in his small hands. He begins to talk about the last race, excitedly recounting the most memorable moments, including the end when his father crossed the finish line first. His big brown eyes turn to him, then he says that he’s so happy he’s here. 

When he wraps his short arms around him, Oscar does the same and even presses a kiss on the kid’s head. There is undeniably a certain connection between them that he can’t explain, but they both know it’s there, otherwise his son probably wouldn’t be this chill with the idea of being alone with a stranger. Okay, that and the fact he’s his favorite driver.

They sit down in the middle of the living room, and Oliver decides to talk about his favorite books, proudly telling his father that he knows how to read, and that, according to you and your boyfriend, he’s really good at it. “The other kids can barely read yet,” he says with a smug smile, “and I’m already learning math!”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Oscar asks him, but the boy only shakes his head. “I should teach you. I started when I was younger than you, and my mom refused to play with me after a while.”

“Because you were so good?” 

With a shrug, he stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know, but I guess I was better than her. Not sure about other people, though,” he admits with a warm smile.

Oliver lets out a thoughtful hum. “Is she as awesome as my mom?” he suddenly asks, looking back at him. 

A laugh escapes him at the thought, which makes his son tilt his head to the side in question. “That depends on who you ask. She loves to embarrass me online, which isn’t always a good thing, but I love her, she’s the best mum I could ask for. And there are a lot of people, especially my fans, who absolutely adore her for this gentle bullying,” he adds with a laugh.

“My mom would never do that,” Oliver states, his little nose scrunching at the thought. “She loves me too much.”

The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, sometimes stopping when the little boy gets distracted by something he caught on TV. But he seems interested, he wants to learn as much as he can, and it’s true the other way around, because Oscar asks a lot of questions too. He hasn’t even noticed how much time have passed until you walk in to tell your son it’s time for dinner, a statement that comes with the question whether or not his dad is allowed to stay. 

You don’t let him stay, saying he’s probably tired from traveling so much, then give him a begging look to make him speak up too. Oscar lets out a sigh and forced a smile on his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying for a few days and your mum let me come to see you every day,” he says happily. “In fact, I’ll be looking out for you tomorrow while she’s at work. How does that sound?”

Oliver squeals from happiness before he hugs you both, thanking you over and over again for letting him come over. “Can we go to the zoo?” he asks with bright eyes as he looks over at his father. 

“Sure, whatever you want,” Oscar responds with a nod. 

“Okay, time to wash your hands, Alejandro will be home soon, so we can start to eat,” you ask your son. Once he says goodbye to Oscar and disappears, you turn to him with a forced smile. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

With a sigh, he steps closer to you. “You were right, he’s a lot like me,” he begins quietly, then stops to consider what to say. 

He knows deep down that you want him to stay away, you don’t want him to ruin the balance of your little family, but how can he give you that after getting to know his son? Oliver is his blood, he’s truly a mini version of him, there’s no way he will turn his back on him now. 

You know. After all these years, despite your time together being so short, you still know him well enough to know what was going on in his head. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?” you ask, earning a nod from him. “Thanks for… everything. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Are you a hundred percent sure you want to take him to the zoo?” his mother asks later that day when he calls her. 

Despite being excited to hear everything about her grandson, she seems a little uncertain since hearing about his plan for the next day. Oscar, obviously, knows the problem. Oliver looks just like him, if people see them together—and they will, there’s always someone who recognizes him—the rumors will spread like wildfire along with some photos to prove it. 

And then some journalist will figure out he’s your son, and they’ll check every paparazzi photo of him with his past girlfriends. 

So, yeah, he knows the risks, but deep down he doesn’t care. And if they find out, then what? He likes this kid, he wants to be a part of his life, he wants to be the kind of father Oliver deserves. 

“Sooner or later the secret would be out, Mum,” he points out.

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, but are his mother and her boyfriend ready for this?” 

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

The two of them chat a little longer, and this time he’s willing to listen to a lecture and some advice without interrupting his mother. He needs all the help he can get at this point. Anything to make the right decision at the end of the day.

Two hours later he’s standing in front of your house, leaning against the side of the car with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over your name as he’s trying to decide whether or not to call you at this time of the night. 

The clock says it’s almost midnight. Maybe you’re already sleeping, maybe—

“Oscar?”

His head snaps up, and he sees you stand in the door. Gulping, he pushes himself away from the vehicle and walks over to you. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” he says.

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

And then he explains everything; the zoo, the possibility of the world finding out his connection to Oliver, the rumors, the gossip sites, the scrutiny. This is more than what you went through while dating him, and it will affect all three of you.

He can see the exact moment you understand the weight of it all, he sees the way the blood drains from your face and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. 

This is the point where you’ll say that’s enough, Oscar’s sure of it, but then tears appear in your eyes, and he instinctively cups your face to force you to look at him. He doesn’t have to ask anything, you start to talk without his question.

“Alejandro moved out. Temporarily, at least that’s what he said. Oliver… He kept talking about you, about how cool it is that you’re his father, and he got a little upset that I didn’t point out he was technically a stranger unlike the man who’s been raising him.”

With a sigh, Oscar pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I can talk to him if you want me to,” he offers. 

You look him in the eye, then shake your head. “No, and… I think you shouldn’t be around Oliver either. Birthday, Christmas, one visit during the summer break. The only times you can see him,” you state quietly. 

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

For a moment, Oscar hesitates. Yes, he understands your point, but he doesn’t want to let go of his son. Not now that he knows what a cool kid he has. Anger slowly takes over, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Don’t want me to start a custody battle,” he says. 

“Come on, you travel around the world for the best part of the year, you’re single as far as I know, no judge would give you custody.”

He’s not like this, he barely loses his temper, but now he’s so angry he might blow up. “Why do you have to complicate things every single time?!” he spits. “I’ll talk to your boyfriend and put an end to this nonsense. He’ll have to accept that I’m here, and I’m here to say. Damn it, I’ll even move here if that’s the only way I can be around Oliver.”

This leaves you speechless, and then you just slap him across the face and march back inside the house. 

Well, that’s not what he expected. 

[missjessefantastico]

who's surprised? nobody!

[physalian]

Avoiding Plot Holes by Seeding Doubt

Having an “expert” character conveniently fuck up right when the plot needs it to happen, when they otherwise would never, always loudly looks like the hand of the author sabotaging things. Which is exactly what’s happening.

However, if you set up that scene in a way where that fuckup is possible and warranted, you can turn “this is so contrived” to “omg I knew that was going to happen”.

Some suggestions!

Firstly, if we’re dealing with humans, humans are not machines. Variability in skill even at the expert level happens. Go watch the Olympics or any professional sporting event and people have terrible days all the time.

In fiction, a conveniently terrible day because that’s just how this works doesn’t fly. Diablos ex machinas tend to go over easier than deus ex machinas, but a character failing at a critical challenge in the narrative for no reason screws with a lot of the tension and expectations. “For no reason” takes no effort by the author to set up and pay off, and it reads as cheap.

Behavioral variables

I am a novice archer. I write expert archers. I do not write supernaturally accurate archers. From the very beginning of my story, my expert, with four centuries of experience, isn’t nailing perfect kill shots with every hit. A) he doesn’t need to and B) leaving his enemy to die slowly and painfully is a low he will absolutely stoop to if he thinks it’s warranted.

He’s as good as he has to be and if he gets the job done, he doesn’t care if it’s a little messy. Him being messy and overconfident is what gets him in the end, too. If he’s trying, he’ll do better, but most of the time “eh, I got close enough, they’ll die eventually” is his mindset.

“Expert” in fiction being “this is a character who will reliably pass the challenges set up for them by the narrative”.

So if you have an “expert,” allowing them to get a little bit lazy and overconfident, or simply not think of themselves as needing to be perfect in a given situation, you allow yourself a lot of wiggle room for them to majorly fuck up.

Doesn’t work very well if I throw my archer into an archery tournament, but I haven’t done that, and I’ll get to that later.

Environmental variables

Using the archery example once again: Archery is finnicky and precision is key. So if you’ve got your archer, or any marksman, in a windy environment, they have to work that much harder to factor in the wind when setting up their shot.

If it’s rainy, or the sun’s in their face, or it’s dark, or it’s loud and they can’t focus, these things aren’t exact data points the audience is going to do the math on. Or, if they and their enemy are moving, which, in combat, is highly likely.

Physiological variables

Maybe your character didn’t get enough sleep, or they’re stressed about this moment, they’re cracking under the pressure, they’re doubting themselves, the enemy got into their head, or they’re distracted worrying about something else. Or they got drunk the night before, they ate too much or too little. They’re sick, their hands are sweaty, they’ve got a sinus headache. They’ve got cramps, or hot flashes, or earlier they pulled a muscle and it still tweaks.

These are all, once again, introducing doubt into the narrative so that, when they fuck up as the plot demands, the audience should consider “well they weren’t at their best, I believe it”.

—

The sloppy way to do this is to go, in the moment:

“But because it was windy, X missed his shot”.

Is this the first time the reader is learning that it’s windy? Pretty convenient to introduce it right as it becomes important.

Rather, establish your variable beforehand in a disconnected moment. Try to ground it to a different element, otherwise it might look like it’s being mentioned for no other reason than “this is important”. Or, if it’s environmental, bury it with the other sensory descriptors.

When establishing the scene and setting, casually mention how the wind is interacting with the characters—making their hair a mess, throwing pollen everywhere, making skirts billow, etc.

Have another character complain about this variable bothering them

Have the character instantly regret the decision they made the night before for unrelated reasons. Like, if they got drunk, now they’ve still got a headache.

Depends on the story and the audience, of course, but I personally think having the narrator explicitly call out the variable fuckery going on reads a bit hammy. I like letting the audience figure out what went wrong with the clues I give.

If the scene demands, I'll also let my characters get annoyed and upset about their shots going wrong and blaming the environment. So long as it's not "hand of the author here to tell you what went wrong" you've got options.

I wouldn’t pull this trick too many times, otherwise your “expert” ends up consistently not an expert and then their sudden success looks suspect and contrived.

If you are writing some sort of tournament where this character is deliberately setting themselves up for success and is considering all these variables… a great example I like is Todoroki vs Bakugo in My Hero Academia season 2.

Dude is an uncertain mess throughout the rest of his tournament once his “fuck you dad I’m gonna win by half-assing it” suddenly isn’t enough to beat Midoriya. He’s forced to face some Tragic Backstory and it throws him off his game—establishes doubt.

He has a string of successes once he starts taking baby steps with the other half of his powers, and in the finale, he’s up against someone where he really does have to give it his all if he wants to win. His brute force powers are up against someone who has honed his very specific and powerful abilities for a decade.

And he can’t do it.

The final fight stops being a matter of power metrics and who would win if they both were competing at their best with all the tricks in their playbook available, which is what most of the tournament had been up to this point.

Basically—it stops being a numbers game, and starts being an emotional one. If you have a character you need to fail at something, but who wouldn’t otherwise, consider shifting the battle from external to internal, so the task failure is just the catalyst for the real meat of the story: what this loss means to this person in the long run.

**Side note there are of course a ton of anime tournament fights probably better than this one, Rock Lee’s whole arc against Gaara is one of them, I just don’t remember it well enough to comment on it.

Not every reader is going to be savvy enough to go “well that’s going to be important later”. Use betas and editors to help gauge how vague or obvious your foreshadowing is.

But even if you have readers sussing out your foreshadowing: Part of the fun is figuring out how the journey will end, even if we know when and where. Otherwise tragedies and prequels wouldn’t be made.

The dramatic irony of knowing variable fuckery is at play when the character is unaware can be so fun as the audience. Horror films are kind of built on it.

[livsbuffy]

the long-term impact of buffy’s relationship with angel on her perception of love and her self-worth deserved to be explored more. the show touches on it a few times, but it didn't get nearly enough focus, considering how formative this first romantic experience was.

from the beginning, their relationship is doomed by the narrative : the soul curse, the slayer vs. vampire dynamic, angel's constant disappearing acts, etc. when angel loses his soul, he immediately expresses hatred for buffy. angelus doesn't feel an ounce of love for the girl. whatever angel felt never transferred to his uninhibited counterpart, angelus.

ANGELUS : She made me feel like a human being. That's not the kind of thing you just forgive. (Innocence, 2x14).

from the age of sixteen, buffy starts associating intimacy (emotional and physical) with punishment and hurt. her love is poison. it's the root of evil (angel losing his soul after their first time) and it hurts the people she loves (giles losing jenny). love becomes laced with guilt.

BUFFY (to Giles) : I'm sorry I couldn't kill him for you... for [Jenny]... when I had the chance. (Passion, 2x17)

angel taints buffy's sense of self. he makes her doubt herself. he never stops bringing up her age and immaturity (shocker, high school girl isn't an adult!!!!). it's a recurring theme in their relationship, one the show gives up on for some reason, but it was very much present in the beginning.

ANGEL : You're sixteen years old. I'm two hundred and forty-one. BUFFY: I've done the math. ANGEL : You don't know what you're doing, you don't know what you want... (Reptile Boy, 2x05)

this imbalance is a constant, but both shows gloss it over or try to reverse it. there’s a scene in angel’s spin-off where buffy finds faith with him and asks that she face legal consequences (a reasonable demand for someone who just stole her body). but buffy is painted as the irrational party by the writing. worse, when angel grabs buffy’s arm to stop her from going after a fleeing faith and she fights back, he justifies hitting her, completely disregarding her trauma and focusing on her physicality to distract the viewer from his emotional manipulation.

BUFFY :  You hit me. ANGEL :  Not to go all schoolyard on you, but you hit me first. In case you've forgotten, you're a little bit stronger than I am. (Sanctuary, 1x19)

the show insists on buffy’s strength, but ignores the emotional and situational imbalance. angel is older, more experienced, and constantly undermines her feelings. the narrative minimizes his mind-games by deflecting. angel twists buffy's need for justice into revenge. he takes her justified pain and shapes it into something vile, gaslighting buffy and invalidating her feelings.

ANGEL :  Buffy, this wasn't about you!  This was about saving somebody's soul.  (...) ANGEL :  You came because of Faith.  You were looking for vengeance. (Sanctuary, 1x19)

angel plays tricks on buffy's mind during her most formative years. every time he dismisses her pain and struggles, it confirms her insecurities and feeds the voice in her head telling her she's the problem.

there are moments where buffy actively tries to change herself, be someone she's not just to please angel. she tries to lose herself in a performance for the older guy. one notable instance is her halloween costume choice : a woman from angel’s era, prettier from buffy's point of view, a woman that he would have been attracted to back then. ironically, buffy actually does lose herself because the costume is cursed.

BUFFY (to Angel) : I just wanted to be a real girl for once. The kind of fancy girl you liked when you were my age. (Halloween, 2x06)

not only does her love for angel cause tragedy and evil, it also makes her feel small, not worthy, not enough. it touches her self-esteem. this is apparent when angel mocks buffy after their first time, tapping right into her teenage insecurities :

ANGELUS : You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night. BUFFY : What are you saying? ANGELUS : Let's not make an issue out of it, okay? In fact, let's not talk about it at all. It happened. BUFFY : I don't understand. Was it me? Was I not good? (Innocence, 2x14)

he is later painted as the older guy who changed after sex. the show veers off-course in season 3 and completely disregards this aspect of their relationship in order to paint them as a tragic romance instead of sticking with the original subtext : teenage buffy, the "kiddo", being groomed and blaming herself.

BUFFY : Do you remember that guy Angel? JOYCE : Angel, the, um... the college boy who was tutoring you in history? BUFFY : (...) We're sort of dating, were dating. Going through a serious off-again phase right now. JOYCE : Don't tell me. He's changed. He's not the same guy you fell for? (Passion, 2x17)

you can see the impact later with parker. buffy thinks something is wrong with her. her instinct when parker decides that she was just a one-night stand is to put the blame on herself and question her worth, reminiscent of her conversation with angel after their first time :

BUFFY : Parker did I do something wrong? PARKER : Something wrong? No, of course not. It was fun. (...) PARKER : I'm sorry if you missed something. I thought things were pretty clear. BUFFY : I'm sorry if I miss. I'm sorry. PARKER : Look, I really have to go now. BUFFY : Parker wait. I did this all wrong.

angel was the first love that turned evil because of her touch. he was the first love that didn’t stay. so in buffy’s mind, it rings “this is all my fault” alarm bells. she’s not worth staying for. people leaving is her responsibility. it's always the slayer's responsibility.

then she settles for riley despite the lack of love or passion, to regain the normalcy that was shattered by angel. her relationship with riley only happens because of the damage angel caused.

BUFFY : I think [Riley] cares about me but I just feel like something's missing.  WILLOW : He's not making you miserable? BUFFY : Exactly. Riley seems so solid. Like he wouldn't cause me heartache.  (...) WILLOW : The pain is not a friend. BUFFY : (...) Part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting. I wonder where I get that from. (Something Blue, 4x09)

she stays with him even though she’s clearly not fulfilled (running away to slay vampires in the middle of the night instead of staying with him). but even then, riley leaves. being in a relationship with the slayer hurt him in some way (well, his ego). buffy was caught in yet another relationship where she had to change herself, this time because she was too intimidating for regular human riley.

all the men in buffy’s romantic and sexual life made her feel like she tainted them in some way. they were worse off with her. angel loses his soul. she wasn’t good enough for parker. she was too slayer-y for riley. she voices this insecurity to angel in the series finale :

BUFFY : I always feared there was something wrong with me, you know, because I couldn’t make it work. (Chosen, 7x22)

this all starts with angel and bleeds into every single one of her relationships because he shaped her worldview at such a young age. angel being completely unable to love her without a soul also made it impossible for her to accept spike's love, at first. because if spike could love her, then why couldn't angel?

BUFFY : And the joke is... [Spike] loved me. I mean, in his own sick, soulless way, he really did care for me. But I didn't want to be loved. (Conversations With Dead People, 7x07)

accepting spike's unconditional love for her, with or without a soul, would mean confronting the reality of her relationship with angel. it was a superficial love that never transcended soul, conscience or morality. it wasn't deeply ingrained in the deepest parts of him (angel and angelus). strip angel of his inhibitions and he only has loathing for her. strip spike of his soul, and the love stays. twisted, perverted, selfish, but there. real and strong enough to make him want to be better on his own, no curse needed.

for spike, the humanity he gained from loving buffy was a gift he was grateful for, because he's always longed for humanity and never fully severed the link with it.

SPIKE : I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man. (The Gift, 5x22)

he tries to be better for her, as much as his lack of conscience allows. from the start, buffy planted the seeds of his soul quest. it wasn't a spur of the moment thing. it was a process. when willow's spell backfires in Tabula Rasa (6x08), spike, stripped of his memories, already thinks he has a soul. even then, he instinctively gravitates towards buffy and tries to do good. his bond with buffy doesn't depend on souls or memories.

buffy being better and stronger than him—because of her soul, her true goodness, her slayer power—never scared him or drove him away. it intrigued him. it pushed him to stay. spike keeps coming back to buffy. it's all about buffy.

DRUSILLA : You're all covered with her. I look at you, all I see is the Slayer. (Fool For Love, 5x07)

at first, spike tries to drag buffy down with him, to keep her in the darkness, where he belongs. he isolates her further from her friends after her resurrection. by then, corrupting her is the only way for him to have her.

SPIKE : That's not your world. You belong in the shadows... with me. (Dead Things, 6x13)

but spike ends up having an epiphany thanks to love. the only way is to rise to her level. he's beneath her and he accepts it.

SPIKE : We were never together. Not really. She'd never lower herself that far. (Seeing Red, 6x19)

this is the culmination of years and years of performing goodness to please her, failing, trying again, that lead to one conclusion : he needs the missing piece. it's love that leads him to this. he got his soul back to be her equal. buffy is intricately tied to spike's growing identity. she's part of him. buffy changed him on a fundamental level, in a way that was never seen before. she made him go against his vampire nature.

SPIKE : You know, everything used to be so clear. Slayer. Vampire. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry, picks his teeth with her bones. It's always been that way. I've tasted the life of two Slayers. But with Buffy... It isn't supposed to be this way! (Seeing Red, 6x19)

love has become transformative.

and even after his ensoulment, he still kneels in front of buffy. he voluntarily puts himself beneath her, to profess his love for her just the way she is. spike loves all of her, the failures, the cracks, the shortcomings. he loves her for trying and failing and being imperfectly good.

SPIKE : I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy. (Touched, 7x20).

spike elevates buffy on her journey towards loving herself. he tells her what neither of the men who came before him ever did : she is better, she is enough, she doesn't have to change. he honors her.

caring for spike means loving the darkest parts of her. caring for spike means finally accepting that her love can be a power of good, that her relationship with angel doesn't define how she loves. through spike, buffy frees herself of the self-inflicted guilt in her failed relationships.

the last scene is extremely symbolic. spike gives buffy her fire back.

their clasped hands burn. fire symbolizes purification. when spike burns, it's the ultimate step of his redemption. purification of the soul. when buffy's hand burns with his, it signifies the change in how she views love. it's cleansed. it's pure. it's life-changing. it heals. she takes spike's burning hand because she's not scared of love anymore. because she accepts it, fully, in all its beauty and complexity.

angel was the problem. parker was the problem. riley was the problem. there is nothing wrong with her.

spike loved. spike stayed. spike changed. spike burned for her. spike became light because of her.

her love is light.

[hood-ex]

All the Americans on RedNote/Xiaohongshu that are interacting with Chinese people for the first time and are realizing that our governments hate each other but that we can build community/friendship with Chinese people reminds me of a conversation I had with a student of mine.

For context, I taught kids from China how to speak English for 4 years. I had one student named Rain (his English name) from Guangzhou. He was about 9 years old, and I'd been teaching him since the very beginning of his English journey when he only knew very basic vocabulary like vegetables. He got to the point in his language learning where he could use simple words and sentences to talk about more complex subjects.

There was one class we had that I still think about to this day.

"What classes did you have at school today?" I asked. "Math? English? PE?"

"Math yes. English class yes. And... history," he said.

"Oh history? Nice," I said.

"Teacher, I don't like USA a little bit," he said.

"You don't like it? Why?" I asked.

"Because..." he tried to explain before realizing that he didn't have the words he needed to express himself. He switched to miming and drawing the USA fighting with/being mean to China.

"So you don't like the USA because the USA fights China? Hurts China?" I asked for clarification.

"Yes, yes, I don't like it a little bit," he nodded.

"Do you like USA people? I like people from China," I said.

"You like China people?" he asked.

"Yes, I love Chinese people," I said. "I don't like when the USA and China fight, but I love Chinese people."

"Me too!" he said. "Kind of don't like USA, but I like USA people."

In that moment, I was amazed that even with a language barrier, and even with our age difference, we could come to the same conclusion that we didn't like what our countries did to each other, but that didn't mean that he had to hate American people or that I had to hate Chinese people.

"USA people and Chinese people are kind of different," I said, referring to our cultural differences. "We are the same too."

"Yes, kind of the same," he agreed.

That's what many Americans on RedNote/Xiaohongshu are starting to understand better.

[insidekatmind]

Teacher’s pet~Cho Sang-woo

Wearning: +18,smut,agep gap.

Request: yes!

Math class was over, but you were still there, sitting at your desk, while the other students were walking out, chatting among themselves. Cho Sang-woo, your teacher, had called your attention just before the bell rang.

"Stay a moment after class," he had said in that calm, authoritative tone that was so natural to him.

This was nothing new to you. Ever since he had become your teacher, you had attracted his attention with your constant effort and thirst for knowledge. You had always tried your best to shine in his classes, and he seemed to appreciate it. Maybe a little too much.

When the classroom emptied, Sang-woo motioned for you to sit on his lap, and you obeyed.

He smiled and caressed your bare thigh as he looked at you intently. "You exceeded my expectations once again," he began, making you purr.

You smile at his words and thank him. You loved compliments especially if they came from Sang woo, your favorite professor. He chuckles softly in return, appreciating your pleasant reaction. His smile is rare, but it's even more so when he offers it to you. His hand continues rubbing your thigh, gently kneading the soft flesh.

"I notice that you've been studying quite diligently," he observes, "always putting so much effort." You nod smiling.

He smiles back at you, his expression one of slight affection - not that he'd let that show too much, but you know him well enough to notice that subtle change. "It's good to see a student that actually cares about learning," he says, running his hand up your leg.

Smile at his words and his caresses. You loved these moments with him. “Thank you professor,” you say softly, looking at him longingly. His gaze meets yours, a hint of desire in his eyes mixed with his usual composure. He's very good at keeping his feelings at bay, but you could see through him, and he knew it well. He leans in closer to you, his hand now on your hip, pulling you closer.

"You know," he begins, his voice a little more low and sensual, "you're the best student I have." His eyes roam over your body intently, taking in every inch.You smile biting your lip. You loved hearing his compliments.

He notices your reaction, a small smirk appearing on his face. He gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers trailing down your cheek. "You look good like this," he murmurs. You blush at his words and lean into his touch.

Many students envied you seeing how you looked longingly at Sang woo and how he paid more attention to you than the others,

He's aware of how much attention you pay to him, and it makes him feel a sense of power. It's a dangerous game, and he knows he's playing with fire, but he can't help it. He wants you. And he knows you want him too.His hand runs down your neck, his touch leaving a burning trail on your skin. "You're mine, aren't you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, full of possession and desire.

You close your eyes for a second smiling, loving his touch. You felt the heat and could feel your panties getting wet. “yes I am yours” you whisper looking at him. He smiles at your words, a possessive look in his eyes. "Good girl," he says, his hand moving around to the back of your neck, gently tilting your head up. "Only mine."

You felt even more excited at his words and you loved when he called you a good girl and Sang-woo knew it too. He knew exactly the effect he had on you, and he enjoyed it immensely. He loved seeing your excitement, how you reacted to him. It made him feel in control, powerful. He pushed your hair to the side, exposing your neck, and leaned in close, his lips hovering just above your skin. "You can only look at me like that," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "No one else." His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, possessive and claiming.

You moan softly and close your eyes worshiping his lips on your skin. He smirks at your soft moan and continues kissing your neck, moving lower, to your collarbone. His hand slides around to your waist, gripping it possessively. "Only mine," he repeats, his words almost a growl, full of jealousy and desire.

His hand under your shirt, rubbing the soft skin he found there. "No one can have you like I do," He said between kisses. He moves closer to your chest, his nose now against your ear. "No one," he whispers hotly, almost as if he said it to himself.

You groan and nod at his words, agreeing with him. “I only want you,” you whisper. Sang-woo grins against your skin, enjoying your answer. "Good. Because I don't want to share you with anyone." He moves his hand to your chin, gently tilting your head up so that you look at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense and possessive. "You're mine. Only mine."

Sang woo takes off your shirt and unbuttons your bra, placing them on his desk and starts licking your left nipple while his hand squeezes your right. You moan and arch to give him more space. He smirks, watching your reaction to his every touch. He's always enjoyed being the one in control, and seeing you react so sensitively to him only fueled his desire. He slowly twirls his tongue around your nipple, teasing you.

"You look so good like this," he murmurs, his free hand running down your side to your hip. "So sensitive... all for me."He takes your nipple between his teeth, gently biting, and you arch into him.

You moan loudly and grind against him. “so good” you moan putting your hand on his hair to give him more pressure. He smiles against your skin, enjoying your reaction. He loves seeing you this way, this vulnerable. He takes your nipple between his teeth again, biting a little harder this time, making you gasp. "Yes, so good," he nurmured.

He moves one hand down between your legs, feeling your panties. "So wet already," he murmurs against your skin. "Are you this desperate for me?" You whimper at his words and fingers. “Yes” you murmur longingly looking at him with lust.

He growls softly, his fingers rubbing against you through your panties, "You're such a good girl for me." He moves his lips to your neck, kissing and biting, leaving small marks on your skin. You moan at his touch and grind on his fingers. “Please,” you moan desperately.

He chuckles at your plea, enjoying the way you're begging him. "Please what?" he asks, feigning ignorance as he rubs you through your panties. "Use your words." He wanted to hear you say it, make you squirm, make you beg. He was in complete control, and he was loving every second.

“please, touch me” you beg, looking at him as you grind on his fingers. He grins wickedly. "Beg more," he orders, his fingers still rubbing against you, but not giving you the touch you want. "You can do better than that." You whimper at his words begging and begging for more. Sang-woo moans feeling how wet I was for him.

"That's it. Good girl," he says, finally satisfied with your begging. His hand moves under your waist, pulling you even closer. He kisses you with need and want. You moan into the kiss feeling him put a finger in your pussy and move it.

He loved hearing your moans, proof that he was the one who could make you feel this way, the one who had you on the palm of his hand. Sang –woo moved his tongue in sync against yours, feeling every sound you made for him. You loved that he was so in control of you even in the way he kissed you, he was in control of everything. You gripped at his hair to pull him closer, wanting more. He moans in response, enjoying your grip in his hair. But he doesn't let you take control, no, he's the one in charge here, and he makes sure you know it. Sang-woo presses you against the table, his body pinning you in place as he continues his ministrations.

Sang-woo lifts his finger inside you and opens your thighs and starts licking your pussy with hunger and experience making you moan. He was good at this, he knew what he was doing. And he knew how much you loved it. You loved how dominant and controlled he was, how he made sure you took everything he gave you. It was a rush.

Sang woo licked and sucked, his tongue moving in ways you couldn’t imagine. He wanted to make you feel this good, to make you a moaning mess. He was good at this, he knew what he was doing. And he knew how much you loved it. You loved how dominant and controlled he was, how he made sure you took everything he gave you. It was a rush. Sang woo licked and sucked, his tongue moving in ways you couldn’t imagine. He wanted to make you feel this good, to make you a moaning mess.

You gripped the edges of the desk tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you arched your back in ecstasy. It was too much, and yet you wanted more, you needed more. "Please," you moaned, "don't stop."He smirked against you at your words, he knew he was doing a good job. He wanted to hear you beg more, he wanted you to completely lose it. He intensified his efforts, wanting you to reach that peak.

“Does my pet like it when I devour her tight pussy?” Sang woo purrs as he licks and sucks your pussy hungrily. Your whole body tenses at his words, and you let out a moan that bordered on a scream. It was too much. The way he was talking, the way he was touching you, it was driving you crazy. "Oh god yes" you moan out, completely losing control of yourself. "Please don't stop".

He had you right where he wanted you, completely at his mercy. He loved having this power over you, knowing that he could bring you to the edge and back. He continued his ministrations, wanting to make sure you were completely satisfied. You was a mess, your body trembling and shaking from his touches. You were in complete ecstasy and he was the one responsible for it.

He makes circles with his tongue and hits your g-spot, teasing and sucking it. You can barely form words, it was just a series of moans and gasps, your mind completely clouded with pleasure. He knew exactly where to touch and when, how to make you feel this good. You couldn't help it, you couldn't think of anything else besides the pleasure he was giving you. Your body was shaking, and you gripped the edges of the desk tightly, trying to hold on to something, anything, as he took you to the edge. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the climax, and you weren't sure if you could handle it.

You could hear him chuckling softly between kisses, loving how he was making you feel. He was enjoying this, enjoying the control he had over you. He continued his ministrations, more aggressively this time, needing to hear your sounds. He wanted to know how far he could push you, how much he could drive you wild.

"That's it," he growls, "let go for me, pet. Show me how much you need me." You moan and come as you closed your eyes in pleasure. “So good” you murmur between moans. He smiles at your words, pleased with himself knowing he was the one who made you feel this way. He slowly moves up again, trailing kiss across your body till he reaches your face. "So beautiful" he murmurs, looking at you with intense eyes, "all mine."

“This is a little reward for being so obedient and studious” Sang woo purrs at you and then flips you over placing you on your stomach on the desk bending your ass. You feel a mix of excitement and anticipation as he positions you on your stomach. He’s in control, and you love it. You feel him running his hand up your inner thigh, his touch possessive and dominant.

Sang woo spits his saliva on your asshole then sticks a finger in and teases it making you scream. He smiled and raised his finger unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers and with one push he entered you making you both moan.

You're completely at his mercy, with no control or power. It's a new feeling, one you're not used to, but in this moment you trust him. You trust him not to hurt you, to take care of you.

Sang woo pushes himself towards you fucking you hard on his desk grunting. He's rough with you, but you don't mind. You want him, need him. He takes you with a possessiveness that makes you shiver.It's so different, so intense, compared to when you're in his bed. He's not gentle, he's not slow.

You moan feeling him grab some of your hair pulling you closer to make you feel more. "You like getting fucked by your teacher, huh?" he murmurs in your ear grunting as he playfully nibbled on your earlobe.

You let out a soft moan, your mind clouded with pleasure. "Yes," you manage to gasp out, the words leaving your mouth before you can even think. "I like it, professor..." He smiles and smacks your butt. "Oh, don't call me professor pet, call me what you call me at home while I fuck you" Sang-Woo whispers increasing his thrusts.

You moan loudly and try to form words. "Daddy" you finally manage to gasp, your cheeks burning with embarrassment but also excitement. "Please, Daddy..." Sang-woo grunts at the sound of that, the word sending a chill down his spine. He loves it, he loves the way you call him that. "Again," he orders, his voice thick with want. You moan and repeat the word, "Daddy." It feels so wrong but so right. He's in control, and he's making you feel amazing.

He loves how vulnerable you are like this, how you willingly give yourself to him. He leans forward, his lips against your ear as he speaks, his voice low and commanding. "That's it," he murmurs, "who do you belong to?" you whimper, your mind completely clouded with pleasure. "You, Daddy." you answer back breathlessly. "I belong to you."

He groans at your response, your words fueling his desire even more. "Good girl," he praises you, his voice thick with satisfaction, "now tell me, who is the only one who gets to see you like this?" you whimper, your mind completely clouded with pleasure. "You, Daddy,” you repeat, “only you.” He loves hearing you say that, knowing that you're his, that no one else gets to have you this way. He leans in again, his voice low and possessive. "Damn right."

You scream in pleasure feeling his thrusts get stronger, you moan coming on him and Sang woo grunts feeling your pussy squeezing his cock cumming inside you."That's right babygirl, take all my cum" Sang woo murmurs as he nibbled you the neck. His words have a strange effect on your brain, and you find yourself craving him more than ever. You want him to keep talking, to keep doing what he's doing. It's almost too much, the way he has control over your body and mind.

His lips on your neck send electricity through you, and you cling to him tight, as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. You want more, always more. He chuckles softly at your clinging, knowing he has you completely under his control. "Such a needy little thing," he murmurs, "but it's okay, you're mine to take care of." you whimper at his words, the idea of being his, of being taken care of by him, is both maddening and comforting. It's a feeling you didn't think you'd ever experience with anyone, but here you are, completely submitting to him.

Sang-woo smiles and pulls out of you making you whimper. He lifts up his boxers and underwear and then turns you around to help you get dressed. “When you come home later you will have more, now you have to go to class” you say softly as he kisses your neck.

You can't help but feel a pang of disappointment, wanting more of what he just gave you. but you know he's right, and you have to go to class. you turn around and kiss him back, your lips lingering on his for a moment before pulling away. "I'll be counting the minutes," you whisper, your words conveying more than just a simple goodbye. He chuckles softly, his fingers trailing down your arm. "I'll be counting too, be a good girl in class, okay?" he says, his voice taking on a commanding tone, a playful smirk on his face.

You nod, feeling a shiver run down your spine at the tone of voice. You know he'll be watching, waiting for you to come home. "I'll be good, I promise." you reply, your voice soft and obedient.

With that, he releases you, and you reluctantly head out to class. The rest of the day seemed to drag on, your mind excited with thoughts of him, of what he'll do to you later.

[ssahotchnerr]

An idea for Nanny!reader

R hurting themself (something small) and Jack telling on them to Hotch and after knowing r is fine some playfulness - you know the stuff you’re amazing at

wounds

hehe thank you <3 cw; fem nanny!reader, blood/small injury mentions, small talk of food, mutual pining 🥰🥰

The apartment was warm and inviting as Aaron returned home. The furnace humming, the living room brightly lit, the faint aroma from dinner still lingering. He instantly regretted his choice of staying a bit later at the BAU.

He also wasn't surprised; this is how the apartment always felt whenever you were here. Warm and inviting was who you were as a person. He couldn't remember the last time, prior to your addition in the Hotchners' lives, he had come home to such a calm and cozy atmosphere.

He found the two of you in the dining room; Jack and yourself were huddled over the table, conversing softly as Jack practiced the utter joys of fractions.

"Hey," Aaron greeted you both, shrugging his suit jacket off his shoulders, loosening his tie.

"Hi Dad," Jack kept his head low, continuing on his current problem while your gaze lifted, offering him a welcoming smile.

Aaron rustled his Jack's gently. "Whatcha up to?"

"Homework."

Aaron nodded slowly. And as he did so, his eyes began to study the spread across the surface: a math book, multiple worksheets, a few new-to-Jack books - the two of you must've visited the library this afternoon.

However, something stuck out; his attention fell to your hand, which you were attempting to subtly conceal. You were keeping it close to your body, leaning over the tabletop a little more than usual.

Just as he noticed it, and the initial alarm began going off in his head, it was as if Jack read his mind. He dutifully spoke up, telling his father how you unfortunately managed to cut your finger.

You shot Jack a playful glare, a humorous, 'really?' As a laugh escaped Jack, your eyes connected with Aaron's, your mouth dropping momentarily as you came up with a response. They were full of concern, his eyebrows drawn over his eyes.

By the look on his face, you were convinced he was ready to whisk you away to the closest urgent care.

"It's fine, really." You insisted, waving it off and hoping he would do the same. You weren't one for attention, especially when it came to your highly attractive boss.

But naturally, he didn't. "Let me see."

It was a question; a strained expression pulled onto your face, a do I have to? before Aaron reached out, holding his hand out in the air until you offered your own in defeat.

The second your hand connected with his, a jolt of electricity shot up your arm. You bit down onto your lip, your heart beginning to race and hoping you hadn't visually reacted the way you internally did.

As you expected, (and guilty of thinking many times) his hands were rough, similar to the demeanor an FBI agent would uphold (and to your mild understanding, he was on the authoritative side).

But they also had a softness to them, which made perfect sense as he has displayed nothing but respect and kindness to you. Aaron Hotchner was hard on the exterior, but gentle underneath.

Not only that, your hand fit perfectly into his.

He cradled your hand, carefully observing the bandage you had hastily wrapped around your left index finger. A deep blush developed quickly in your cheeks.

"How did this happen?" His brown eyes lifted to yours. The glint in them so sweet and genuine it caused you to flush more.

Pull it together. "Cutting up some veggies." You managed, taking a small, but very flustered, gulp.

"We had pizza." Jack chimed in, his pencil pausing amidst his worksheet. "To help me with my math."

"Oh," Aaron pointed a soft smile in your direction. Could he quit it before you turned into a puddle? "That's a smart idea."

At the compliment, as small as it was, you felt the heat rising in your cheeks even more. "The perfect way to visually learn."

He was still clutching onto your hand, holding it firmly enough to not cause you any more potential harm, and giving no signs of releasing. You may have been imagining it - your brain fuzzy beyond belief - but you could've sworn the pad of his thumb was brushing back and forth lightly on your palm.

"How long ago was this?"

"Hm, maybe an hour and a half, two hours ago?" You thought back, shrugging lightly.

He seemed pleased with your answer; the bleeding wasn't lasting, nor was it seeping into your bandage. A good sign. "And did you clean it?"

"Who do you think I am?" You teased, but nodded in confirmation. "Thoroughly, yes."

"Well, before you leave tonight, I want to take a better look at it. Change your bandage, apply more Neosporin, all that."

You weren't one to argue, so you nodded as he finally released your hand, mourning the loss of his contact right away.

But at least, a guaranteed moment alone with Aaron was in your near future.

You flashed him a small yet grateful smile, which he returned before his attention switched over to Jack. "Back to work bud. Those fractions aren't going to solve themselves."

"Can we practice with ice cream next?"

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 5.

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The library was quiet when you walked in. Since it was still early in the morning many people hadn't shown up yet. Your luck of finding a tutor were slim right now. It was best to start independent so you could tell a tutor what you needed to learn more about anyway.

You wonder the shelves contemplating where to begin. Maybe the computers to look up what fourth grade standards? Didn't those vary though? Okay maybe you should have goaded your 'family' into telling you were the 'boarding school' was supposedly base. Science sounded like a good option. It used a mix of math and reading comprehension.

You had to choose a science fourth grades typically learned, though. Honestly you wished you could just pick any science and say the school had specialized classes. However you didn't know what type of boarding school Bruce claimed you went to. The slightest misstep and your siblings would alert him that something was up.

Being realistic Bruce could send you back at anytime. By playing into his lies, you would appear compliant or like you don't suspect he was involved. That could buy you time. If it seemed like you were truly trying to integrate back into the family and not expose the experiments, he might let you stay for a little longer. Why get rid of someone if their potential as a threat was limited by their ignorance?

For now you need to match the cover story. Whatever books were labeled fourth grade level than. Maybe a few fifth grade books. You had implied that you were doing more advanced work. Maybe you could safely make the claim that you were placed in advance classes. They had been talking about those during your last year at Gotham prep.

The kids section was full of basic cartoon style books. You browsed a few before frowning. Most of the information was the bare bone minimum. Half the books mark 4th grade level only covered surface level knowledge.

You pulled out a book on human anatomy and almost bursted out laughing. The drawings were over simplifications of the organs, nothing compared to how they really looked. Slimy, covered in veins, shades of pink or gray you didn't expect once the blood was removed. That thought brought back a haunting memory. You shoved the book back on the shelf. Medical research would come later.

Grabbing any books that caught your attention, you headed over to a secluded area. Most of the information was basic understand. Yes, you learned some new things and were fairly certain your reading comprehension was ay the appropriate level. But there was nothing involving math. "Maybe a few tutors have shown up or a librarian can help me call one."

Standing back up you wondering over to the librarian desk. No one was there. You yet out a heavy sigh. Oh course they weren't there, that was just your luck.

"Hello, are you looking for something?" You jumped at the sudden voice behind you. Spinning around you saw a woman with long dark brown hair and green eyes. She carried herself confidently but some part of you screamed the she was capable of violence.

"I was looking into what's available in terms of math tutoring. Maybe social studies or history if that's an options." You angled you body away from her.

She laughed slightly more to herself than you. There was a gleam in her eye, like she was impressed by her assessment. "Well you're in luck. I happened to home schooled my own son in math and know a lot of teachers. What do you need to know?"

"Pretty much everything above adding and subtracting." You scowled down at the books in your arms. It they had and hadn't been useful. Maybe you should take advantage of this woman's help. You needed a tutor, it shouldn't matter who it was also long as your family didn't find out. "What’s your name?"

"I'm Talia." She crouched down to your level and held out a hand. You stopped thinking.

Talia.

The woman mentioned in your mother's diary. It couldn't be. Though she mentioned having a son. No Talia might have been an older flame and Damian's mother had a different name. Maybe you had been to quick to get in a fight with him. Now you couldn't ask him about his mother. What if he sent her to spy on you because you had pissed him off? Not good, really not good.

"I'm (Fake Name)." You gave her the wrong name and watched. If Damian had sent her, she would probably already know your name. So by giving her the wrong one you could figure what she already knew about you. It wouldn't be through her words or actions. No the hints would be subtle. Some kind of disappointment or a sign she felt slighted.

Yet her face remain pleasant. That slight hint of being impressed remaining, "It's nice to meet you. Let's do a few tests so I can see where you are first." Just like that you were swept away into a world of learning.

Talia was beyond impressed with the young Wayne girl. First she correctly identified Talia as a threat. It was obvious by the way she angled herself away from the older woman. How her eyes flicked for the nearest exit, probably a subconscious reaction. Without Talia's weapons or reputation, the girl had pick up on danger.

Next was the wrong name. Said so surely like it truly was her name. The girl shifted so fluidly into the new identity too. Talia would have believed it if she hadn't already done research. Never once did she catch the girl not responding to the name. All without proper training.

However, that all paled in comparison to her true shining trait. The girl's intelligence was well beyond average. She caught trick questions and picked up topics quickly. Talia was willing to bet her intellect could rival Bruce's. Obviously not at her current state, she need guidance to reach that level. Still all the material was there.

"Thank you for the help, today." Her voice was quiet. Movements quick to put away the notebook she had written all of her work in. They had moved from mathematics, to English, social studies, sciences, and the one that she seem the most interested in Criminal Investigation. Damian had taken his father's intelligence but was held back his ego. She didn't have that fault.

Talia smiled, "of course. Will you be returning tomorrow? I would love to continue our lessons. There's a chance I might be able to teach you Arabic."

"Arabic, the language?"

"Yes. I taught my son but well he lives with his father now and I don't get to speak it with him anymore." Talia said the information to get the girl to relax but the opposite occurred.

(Name) bit her lip, "I apologize if this is sensitive to you but what's your son's name?"

"Damian." Talia observed the girl's reaction. Her shoulders tense, body angling again, one deep breath. "Too bad his father turned him against me."

"How?" The girl blinked after saying the word. Her face was too blank to be natural. The information was throwing her for a loop as she tried to make it fit her reality. They would need to work on that.

Talia shook her head sadly, "I'm not a hundred percent certain what he told my boy but I think... I think he made Damian believe that he was in love with me and I broke his heart. Even though it was the other way around when he cheated on me."

Talia watched as the words hit home with the girl. Oh she had chosen the right story to turn her against Bruce. The girl gave her an easy smile that was a smidge too tense in the corners, "Yeah. I'll be here tomorrow. Can I ask one last question?"

"Go ahead." Talia gestured with her hand.

"Do you happened to know any self defense teachers?" Determination morphed her features. It made her come alive in a sense. That fire she saw yesterday back in her eyes and brighter. Confidence shifted her stance into one more sure.

"Oh I know several material arts teachers."

Bruce sat in his car, rubbing his brow. In a little over twenty-four hours since his youngest had shown up at manor things had arguably gotten worst. First the information coming out about (Name) never being at school followed by a full blown investigation by his kids. Than there was what the others had officially dub "The shit list". Damian had become so upset he secluded himself in the barn. Last but certainly not less were the changes the other reported in his youngest.

Dick's last phone call said she was at the library researching for 'school'. They had decided to watch her through the cameras believing space was what she actually need. Yet one thing was clear from the little time she had spent in the manor since coming back. Whatever had happened was traumatic and she was not going to tell them directly. Perhaps whoever had her was now stalking her to ensure she wouldn't cooperate.

Bruce would double the manor's security. He wouldn't fail one of his kids a second time. She hadn't arrived home from the library yet, so Bruce had time to prepare. Taking one last deep breath he exited the car. First stop the Batcave to get an update on investigation.

Bruce might as well have entered a war zone. At least there he would know where to start. Dick and Jason were in a screaming match about who should have been checking in on her. Tim was two steps away from drinking coffee straight from the pot, while pouring over financial records. Barbara looked like she was having an aneurysm. Cass was analysising video footage taking notes on presumably her body language. Duke was being interrogate being Steph on how (Name) acted while the two were out and what she could have been writing in "the shit list."

"Status report." His voice shattered the chaos in a matter of seconds. "Oracle you go first."

"I searched through city wide surveillance feeds and found some video footage from a few days ago. It seems like who ever had her did chase after but..." Oracle, Barbara trailed off. The screen flash to show (Name) being chased by an armed pursuer. In two seconds, she had turned thrown a knife of some kind than ran down an another alleyway. Her pursuer fell to the ground weapon lodged in his throat. "Police reports identified him as James Lenon, a low level criminal with a history of violence. He had a scalpel in his trachea and was pronounced dead on arrival of the scene."

Bruce now understood why Barbara looked ready to have an aneurysm. This footage showed (Name) committing murder. Just to get away from whoever was holding her captive. He could only imagine what might have pushed her to that point. That or she didn't know the guy was dead. It would technically count as self defense either way but not a good sign.

Barbara typed something on her laptop before another video appeared. "Than there's this one." It show (Name) running off screen injured. When she reappeared the injuries were gone, not even a speck of blood. The video ended with (Name) throwing a mangled bullet at the camera. An act of defiance, but towards who.

"Has this video been edited?"

"No. This is the orginial video. Do you think she might actually be a meta?" The room filled with anticipation at that.

Bruce nodded once, "we'll need to test her DNA but the odds are good. Red Robin what do you have?"

"She was telling the truth about her card being stolen. It would seem whoever stole it though knew better than to use it to pay for something directly. All of it's cash withdrawals, the ATMs used are in Gotham though so it's all local. Oracle any updates on ATM footage?"

"Na-da. They're smart, covered their faces with sunglasses and sick masks. Generic brand sunglasses and disposable mask so no identifying markers. They wear them on video until they disappear." Barbara brought several still shots onto the screen.

Bruce nodded to the two, taking in the information. It assumable from the ATM footage alone there were multiple people involved in this. They would need to identify which group had the most to gain.

"Nightwing, Red Hood. What did your investigation of the PO box reveal?"

"They scorched the damn place the night she escaped." Jason dropped a picture of a burnt and destroyed PO boxes on the table. One box in the third row was circled "Also destroyed any mail going to all the PO boxes on that wall. Feds are looking into it since the post office was involved, I couldn't get closer than that."

"The person who orginially opened the box, Marcus Antonio, was found dead last night." Dick placed crime scene photos on the table. A man with a singular bullet wound laid in a pool of blood. There were tipped over and rifled through drawers, books, coffee containers. The scene was mess. "Decided to take a look around. It was a clean hit but catch this. The guy had loads of cash stashed all over the place. GCPD thinks it was a robbery gone wrong since they didn't take all of it and left in a hurry. With what we know, I think it was a targeted attack. They mostly just took the cash they could find, figuring they were going to get cut off"

Tim interrupted, "I second that. All cash withdrawals stopped the day after she escaped. They pulled more than they usually did so the bank flagged the card. It's shut off pending investigation."

Bruce nodded. It was likely that most of the people involved were going to leave Gotham. Cash would be necessary for that. "Any sign of the mail?"

"No but he had a burn bucket in the bedroom." Dick shook his head. Leaning against the table he sighed. "They're getting rid of evidence quickly and have a three day head start."

"Orphan."

"She shows signs of hyper vigilance, avoids cameras, and I think she probing us for information." Cassandra looked up from the tablet she was using one.

"Wait, she's probing us for information?" Tim stopped typing on his laptop before throwing his head back and groaning. "She's become one mystery after another."

"At the breakfast table. She was trying to figure out if we read her diary, was gauging how we all reacted to her mentioning school, and was ensuring the debit card got closed out. The roommates she referred to as troublesome were probably the gaurds."

Everyone nodded. Bruce looked to Barbara, "I want a video of breakfast this morning. I need to know exactly what was said. Spoiler, Signal."

"If she doesn't have PTSD I don't know what she has." Steph leaned back in her chair rubbing her eyes. "Though this one wasn't pay any special anytime to her behavior."

"I didn't know I was supposed to. I genuinely thought she was upset because Damian attacked and having to leave 'school' early." Duke ran a hand over his face. "In the hours we spent at the mall, she implied she had to leave school quickly because something really bad happened. That and she's..."

Duke froze, pieces connecting in his head. When he looked at Bruce, horror started to mix with realization. "Was she a Meta two years ago?"

There was a pregnant pause as everyone in the room thought. Bruce shook his, "No. She never showed signs of being a Meta."

"Disappeared for two years, comes back with meta abilities, refers to the thing making her leave as really bad with potentially two triggers for her being needles and the smell of disinfectant." Duke looked at all of them more pieces falling into place. Bruce's eyebrows knitted together. Duke was on to something but for the life of him, Bruce could piece it together? "What was happening two years when she disappeared? Other than that Joker attack."

It finally hit Bruce what Duke was getting at. Two years ago Meta Human traffickers stop looking for ways to find 'product'. Instead they began looking for ways to create new it. There were reports of them doing horrifying things to create new meta humans. It didn’t work because most of them lacked the funding to get the necessary chemicals and equipment.

Yet, with a Wayne kid's debit card that gets weekly deposits. He even gave her a higher amount than the others because she was supposedly aboard. It was possible but there was one missing component for this. "There are no meta humans in my biological family. She wouldn't have the gene to activate."

"And her mother's half of the family?" It was a valid question for Duke to ask. Bruce thought for a second, had her mother had a meta in her family. She mentioned an aunt that was disowned but that was it.

"Spoiler I want you looking into her mother's side of the family." Bruce gave the command before looking across the room again. "Red Hood start looking into Meta Human Traffickers who went off the grid two years ago. Red Robin you're in charge of looking into whoever made those withdrawals. Find out where that cash went. Oracle, look into the two people we've identified as being involved, get contacts, favorite hunts, anything you can. Send that information to Oprhan and Signal. You two are with me in tracking them down."

"What about me B?" Dick gave Bruce a questioning look.

"You're going to talk with (Name) and get her to open up to you." Bruce nodded at Dick, "Go be her older brother."

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Taglist:

@stove-top96 @mysticalhills @00hellohello00 @a-lurking-fae @yhin-gg @twismare @charlenexoxo1 @moondust-clouds @darkumbreon92 @jsprien213 @bellethesleepypotato @time-shardz @randomlyappearingartist

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 1

General Masterlist fratboy!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future. A/n: omggg my first series!!! i'm so so so excited for this one, i literally wrote this sooo fast cause i was soooo excited! i hope you all like this too! let me know any feedback you may have. Thanks to my one and only @eileenrry for being my designated proof reader 💖 Word count: 3.4k Warnings: This part has a lot of angst, and the series WILL HAVE smut, so +18 (not on this part tho). Mentions of alcohol, smoking, betrayal.

“Do you want to sit with me?” Said a soft voice, tiny, cutest at it’s best. Your tiny hands were clenched around the straps of your oversized backpack, and even though you were small too, everything around you felt impossibly big—the chairs, the poster boards on the wall, the toys lined up in the back of the room. You felt like the smallest, quietest flea. You weren’t the kind to make noise; you liked to keep to yourself, tucked safely behind your mother’s legs, where the world couldn’t quite reach you.

So when your parents sat you down and said you’d be moving to another city, the world tilted. Everything became a blur of cardboard boxes and goodbyes. You had to choose which plushies to keep, which ones to let go—and somehow, even at that age, you knew those choices mattered. You were so young, but you remember it like it was yesterday. Not just because it was the first time life ever truly scared you, but because it was also the beginning of something. Because that’s how you met Harry.

So when that tiny voice said, “Do you want to sit with me?” you turned your head and saw him—a curly-haired boy with big green eyes and lashes so long they looked like they’d been painted on. He was just looking at you, calm and curious. And all you could do was nod and take the empty seat beside him.

His table was a mess of color and chaos—crayons scattered everywhere, a pencil poorly sharpened on both ends, and an eraser that had once been white but was now stained with every color imaginable. His workbook lay open, half-filled with scribbles and drawings, and across the top in big, uneven letters, it read: Harry.

“Y/N,” you whispered, barely louder than a breath, unsure if he even heard you.

He glanced up, then gave a small nod and a crooked smile. He didn’t say anything, but it was enough. He seemed a little shy too—not as much as you, of course—but just enough to make you feel like maybe you weren’t alone.

🌷

Shy questions turned into giggles soon enough. It turned out you had more in common than you ever expected—both from different cities, both fans of mixing vanilla and strawberry ice cream, and both a little hopeless at math. It was the kind of quiet connection that didn’t need much explaining; it just was.

"Can you lend me the pink crayon?" he asked, eyes focused on the page in front of him, carefully coloring inside the lines of his workbook.

"No," you said, without hesitation.

He looked up, clearly offended. "Why not?"

You shrugged, holding the crayon a little closer. "Because it’s my favorite one."

He blinked at you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to be mad—then smiled like he’d just learned something important about you.

🌷 The class pictures from the early years of middle school began to pile up, slowly forming a little bundle alongside birthday snapshots and silly, candid moments. What once were debates over whether dolls were better than dinosaurs had turned into whispered promises of being best friends forever.

There was a problem with that. It was called high school—or maybe it was called hormones, or growing up, or feelings, or the chaos of social interactions. It was trying alcohol for the first time, coughing behind Harry’s house after taking a sip that burned too much. It was wheezing with laughter after trying a cigarette he somehow managed to swipe from an old lady at the bus stop.

There were countless school dances where the two of you showed up as best friends—even when a girl got the courage to ask Harry, and he politely turned her down. It was like a secret everyone knew, yet somehow, not fully spoken. Something unconfirmed, but undeniable. You two were untouchable in the eyes of the rest of the school—not in a popular, flashy way, but in a quiet, unbreakable one. No one ever teased you about being a couple, but, They knew. Harry knew.

You? You were a bit oblivious.

And then it happened—at a definitely not parent-supervised party—your first kiss. His first kiss. But not with each other.

"Y/N! Your turn!" called Aria —the redheaded girl who, after Harry, was the one you trusted most. She was the one you talked to about period stuff, what to wear, the latest makeup trends, and gossip about the newest hot celebrity.

You looked at the bottle spinning in front of you. Classic. You weren’t even sure why you agreed to join the game in the first place—but then again, most teenagers don’t really know why they say yes to things at parties. Especially when alcohol is disguised as “Just flavored water, Dad, I swear.”

The bottle spun in what felt like slow motion—maybe because of the flavored water in the red cup you were holding, or maybe because you were too busy scanning the circle, trying to figure out which of the guys would be the least awful choice for your first kiss. Of course, there was Harry—though at the time, you were completely oblivious to how nervous he looked. You wouldn’t have minded kissing him; actually, in the roulette spinning inside your head, he was your first choice. But not because you wanted to kiss him—more like, because you really didn’t want to kiss any of the others.

When the bottle finally stopped, the tip pointed at Phil. You gave a small, nervous smile. Not because it was Phil. Not even because it wasn’t Harry. Just because it was your first kiss. And as the group broke into a chorus of “oooh!”s, you leaned in and had it—your first kiss.

It was short. Dry. No spark. Just a kiss.

And kind of the same thing happened with Harry.

When it was his turn, the bottle also seemed to spin in slow motion—at least for you. Your brain kicked into the same overthinking mode, running through the roulette of girls he could possibly kiss. The only one you didn’t mind was Ivy—the shy new girl who was moving away soon, so it didn’t really matter in the long run. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until the bottle landed on her, and you exhaled quietly, telling yourself it was fine.

What you didn’t stop to question was why you’d been thinking all of that. Or why your chest felt tight and hot with jealousy when you watched Harry lean in and press his lips to Ivy’s.

It was quick. Innocent. But still, it stung.

After the kiss, Harry didn’t even glance at Ivy. He looked straight at you. And you looked right back, both of you smiling—soft, uncertain. No words needed. At this time it was like you both telepathically communicated. The OMG we just had our first kisses. It was written all over your faces.

As time passed and 10th year rolled around, everything seemed pretty normal between the two of you—or at least, you thought it was. Nothing about Harry felt off. Nothing seemed different. Until that one Math class.

"The next assignment will be in pairs. Choose and write your names on this list on your way out," the teacher announced. The classroom erupted in whispers and shifting chairs as everyone scanned the room for their ideal partner. But you didn’t even glance around—you didn’t need to. You and Harry were always partners. Always. It was just a given.

But then, you heard his voice beside you. Heard the sound of his finger tapping on Theo’s shoulder in front of him. And then the words that made your stomach twist.

"Do you want to be partners?" Harry asked.

Theo looked just as confused as you felt. He even glanced back at you for a second, like he was waiting for some kind of explanation. But you had nothing to offer—your face mirrored his.

"Uh… yeah?" Theo replied, hesitant.

"Perfect. I’ll text you after school," Harry said with a shrug, already moving on.

You sat there, mouth slightly open, heart racing with that slow, creeping sting of being blindsided.

"What was that?" you asked.

"What was what?" he said, feigning innocence—but you knew him too well. He knew exactly what he did.

"Why did you ask Theo? What about me?"

He shrugged again. "What about you?"

"What—Harry, we’re always partners."

"I know… it’s just..." He sighed. "We’re both kinda bad at math, and I figured I should pair with someone who can, you know… help me out a bit."

You stared at him. That wasn’t the truth. Not fully. You knew it. You felt it.

But the clock was ticking, and you didn’t have time to process it—let alone find a partner who wasn’t a complete disaster. So you swallowed it. The confusion. The hurt. The shift. And kept moving.

You tried to brush it off the first time. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Then he transferred to different classes entirely. Each time came with the same excuse: “I’m just trying new things.” You questioned him—of course you did. Over and over. But it was all nonsense. Every conversation either turned into a fight or ended with one of his hollow, careless excuses.

So you stopped. You decided not to waste any more time chasing someone who clearly didn’t want to be caught.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Him sitting at different tables during lunch? Level 1. Choosing other people for group assignments? Not answering your texts? Level 2. Taking a completely different route home just to avoid walking with you? Level 3. Laughing—no, giggling—like he was having the time of his life with people who weren’t you? Level 4.

There were tears. So many tears. And there were questions. A constant, suffocating loop of them. Was it something I said? Something I did? Was I a bad friend? But no answer ever came. Just more silence. And more tears.

You weren’t technically alone. You had other friends. But you didn’t have Harry. You didn’t have the one who could read you with a glance. The one who could sense your mood from just the tone of your “hello” in the morning. You didn’t have the one you wanted.

Harry wasn’t there anymore. Not for the 3 a.m. calls when you couldn’t sleep. Not to debrief the daily drama. Not to groan through math class or whisper jokes behind textbooks. And worst of all…As time passed, he wasn’t there for your first heartbreak. He wasn’t there for prom. He wasn’t there to hold your hand when you both tossed the graduation caps into the sky.

He was gone.

🌷

It wasn’t really a surprise when you both looked up and locked eyes in the same introductory group on the first day of college.

Neither of you had talked about which colleges you were applying to. Neither of you knew what the other wanted. Because by then, communication had been reduced to absolutely nothing—0%. Silence and space had taken over. So no, it wasn’t exactly shocking when you ended up in the same college. Same career path. Same group. Because the truth was—you’d always been similar.

You’d dreamed similar dreams. Wanted similar things. And no matter how hard you tried not to be, you were always pulled in by each other’s gravity. Even if you didn’t want to admit it. Even if you swore you were over it. Even if you told yourself it didn’t matter anymore.

There he was. Harry.

And suddenly, the air between you was thick with everything unspoken.

Either of you could’ve asked to transfer. Changed groups. Switched classes. Taken the easy way out.

But neither of you did.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the silent, mutual attempt to prove there was nothing left between you. That you were both mature enough. That you could handle being around each other. Just classmates. Just two people, casually coexisting in the same space.

But the truth?

The truth was that something deeper—something neither of you could name or admit—was keeping you both exactly where you were. You swore it was you just being mad but maybe there was a kind of magnetic pull that wasn’t strong enough to bring you together, but just strong enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t even tried to talk to him, or even look at him, always avoiding as much as you could, 

Your roommate, Juliet, noticed it from day one. The way your entire posture shifted when Harry entered the room. And of course, how you never actually looked at him, not for longer than a blink.

Juliet was bold, blunt, and had a talent for digging into things you weren’t ready to unearth.

“You two have history,” she said one night, cross-legged on her bed, spooning peanut butter out of the jar like it was therapy. “You don’t flinch like that for someone you barely know.”

You rolled your eyes. “We used to be friends. That’s all.” not even bothering to look up from the book in your hands

“Right,” she said, dragging the word out like it had a hundred letters. “And I ‘used to be’ a vegetarian”

She didn’t let it go. She was always trying to get you to talk to him. “Just say hi like a human,” she’d whisper. Or “What’s the worst that could happen? You explode?”

But she didn’t know the weight of it all. She didn’t know that silence between you and Harry wasn’t empty—it was loaded. History, hurt, heartbreak—all packed into every glance, every ignored moment.

Still, Juliet was relentless. And part of you—maybe the part that still remembered how it felt to laugh with him—was kind of glad she was. Beneath all that pain and being mad at it, there he was your Harry, your best friend.

You stopped going to college parties. At first, it was subtle. A few “maybe next time”s.A couple of “I have a headache”s. But Juliet caught on fast.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said one Friday night, standing in front of a mirror, fixing her hair while you curled up under your blanket like it was a shield. “You’re not going because of him, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because the idea of walking into a room and locking eyes with Harry—of pretending you didn’t notice each other, or worse, pretending you were fine—made your stomach twist.

“I just don’t want it to be awkward,” you muttered.

Juliet scoffed. “It’s college. Everything’s awkward. You think Harry’s out there dancing on tables and living his best life?” She paused. “He never goes either, you know.”

That made you sit up and frown “What?”

“I’ve literally never seen him at a single party. Not even the ones his friends throw,” she said. “You two are like magnets repelling each other, except you’re both convinced the other one wants nothing to do with you.”

You stayed quiet, but her words stuck. Because you hadn’t considered that maybe��just maybe—he was avoiding it too. Not because he didn’t want to see you… But because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Of course it was. He was Harry.

That realization didn’t make things easier. It just made your heart ache in a different way.

🌷

It was just another Thursday. Gray skies outside the window, students half-asleep in their chairs, laptops open but barely touched. You were already zoning out when Professor Merrick’s voice cut through the hum of the classroom.

“For your next assignment,” she said, tapping a stack of handouts on her desk, “you’ll be creating a personal narrative. Think of it as storytelling with a purpose—an exploration of the moments that have shaped you.”

You blinked. “What kind of moments?” someone asked from the back.

“Anything that’s changed you,” Merrick replied. “A loss. A revelation. A success story. A moment of heartbreak or clarity. Something real. Something raw.”

A collective groan passed through the room.

“And,” she added, lips twitching into the faintest smile, “you may do it solo, or… in pairs. Your choice. But if you choose to work with someone, the project must reflect both stories—how they intersect, mirror, or clash.”

You felt your stomach drop. This was the kind of assignment you hated. Not because you couldn’t do it, but because you could. You had too much material. And you knew exactly what your story would be… if you were brave enough to tell it. You didn’t look at Harry, who sat two rows across and one seat behind. But you could feel him. That weird awareness that never really went away.

Juliet leaned over, whispering, “You’re doing it solo, right?”

“Obviously,” you whispered back, already scribbling ideas down just to look busy.

But still, your heart thudded louder than before. Because even if you hadn’t looked at Harry, he had looked at you.

Professor Merrick began passing the handouts down each row, but you barely glanced at the paper when it reached your desk. The words blurred together—“personal narrative,” “emotional depth,” “authentic voice”—all sounding a little too close to home.

“As always,” she said, stepping back in front of the board, “I’ll be sending the full assignment details to your emails this evening. Requirements, due dates, guidelines—all there. This is not just about writing well. It’s about honesty. And trust me, I’ll know when it’s not real.” A low murmur rippled through the class again.

“You have until Monday to choose whether you’re working solo or with someone. If you pick a partner, let me know by then. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re flying solo.” She smiled faintly, but there was something knowing in her expression.  Like she enjoyed watching students squirm under the weight of their own unspoken stories.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped the floor as people stood up, stretching and groaning. You shoved the handout into your bag without a second glance.

Juliet nudged you as you walked out. “Maybe this is your sign.”

You frowned. “Sign for what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To tell the story you’ve been dying not to tell.”

You didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed your mind. And because behind you, Harry was still sitting at his desk, staring at the same sheet of paper you hadn’t read either.

🌷

Days later, you were curled up on your bed, laptop perched on your knees, the soft hum of lo-fi music playing from your phone. The Word document on your screen was still blank—just a blinking cursor mocking you, waiting for the first sentence that refused to come.

You had typed and deleted the same line four different times. Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right. Your story was too tangled. 

And then, like some cruel joke, your email pinged.

New Message: STORYTELLING PROJECT CLASS 305 — Personal Narrative From: Harry Styles To: Class 305

You stared at the subject line, confused. You hadn’t spoken in weeks—not even a polite nod in the hallway. Why would he be—

Then you clicked.

And everything shifted.

The message wasn’t meant for you. It wasn’t meant for the whole class. It was clearly written for one person—Noah. He was asking if Noah would be his partner, saying he didn’t want to do the project alone.

“I was thinking of writing about losing my best friend. Her name’s Y/N. She’s also in the class. I was in love with her. I never told her. I pushed her away because I thought if I kept my distance, the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. I made it worse, got out of my hands, I lost her anyway. But of course i can’t mention her name or make it too obvious it’s about her so i figured i could use a partner to help”

Your heart stopped. Again.

“Anyway, It was my fault. I thought I was protecting something, but I ended up breaking it. I don’t know if your story’s anything like that. Just figured I’d ask. Also, can I get your number?”

You sat frozen. For a second, your brain refused to process what your eyes had read. The story. The feelings. The name. Your name.

And then you realized it—he had clicked Reply All. You weren’t supposed to see this. No one in the class was supposed to see this.

You blinked, staring at your screen in disbelief, heart pounding loud in your chest. It was like someone had dropped a confession straight into your lap, and now you didn’t know what to do with it.Because the problem wasn’t that Harry had sent it everyone

The problem was…Everything in it was true. PART 2

Taglist: @hermionelove

[angel06babysworld]

hi love! can i request baby!daddy!rafe getting jealous when he sees his kid’s teacher flirting with reader?🤭

baby!daddy!rafe x blackcat!reader

A+ in Jealousy

You hear Vivianna before you see her. Her voice carries down the preschool hallway, bright and fast and full of the kind of chaotic detail only a two-and-a-half-year-old can summon. Something about a bug on the playground and how Moon the cat knows magic now. You close your eyes briefly, pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Too chatty” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You glance at the time. Two minutes until the meeting. Rafe said he’d be here. You didn’t ask him to come—but he offered. Said it like he was proud of himself for remembering, like the bar wasn’t resting on the floor.

Then you hear it: his footsteps. That soft scuff of sneakers moving just a little too fast, the familiar voice trailing after it.

“Hey, hey—I made it,” Rafe says, a little breathless, slowing when he spots you outside the door. “You beat me.”

You arch a brow. “That’s usually how clocks work.”

He grins like he deserves points just for showing up. He’s in that navy quarter-zip he likes, the sleeves pushed up, hands tucked in the front pocket of his khakis like he’s trying to look more stable than he feels. His hair’s a little messy, like he didn’t have time to do more than run a hand through it before showing up. He smells like spearmint gum and whatever cologne you used to steal from his glovebox three years ago.

“Brought this for you,” he says, holding out a small to-go cup of black coffee. Not your usual, but still—he remembered how you like it. “Didn’t have time to wait for the frothy thing you like.”

You take it, eyes narrowing. “Thanks.”

He smiles, but it’s softer now. Gentler. “Of course.”

You both turn as the classroom door opens and a tall man in slim-fit slacks and a Henley shirt you know he picked to look casual-hot waves you in.

“Miss. L/N? Mr. Cameron? Thanks for coming.”

You step in first, Rafe behind you, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back before he thinks better of it and pulls it away. You pretend not to notice.

Mr. Keller, Vivi’s teacher, has one of those magazine-smile faces—bright white teeth and an intentional five o’clock shadow. He gestures to two chairs across from him, one of which is painfully tiny. Rafe hesitates, then folds himself into it with a quiet grunt. You sit beside him, posture straight, eyes already on the folder in front of the teacher.

“First off,” Mr. Keller begins, looking at you and only you, “your daughter is brilliant. Seriously. She’s curious, emotionally in tune, wildly articulate. She told me yesterday that the moon doesn’t sleep because it has to watch over the dark. I had to Google it to make sure she didn’t pull it from a poem.”

You smile despite yourself. “That sounds like her.”

“She’s got a little spark in her. Very confident. And she clearly loves talking,” he says, eyes lingering just a beat too long. “Especially about you.”

Rafe shifts beside you, but says nothing.

“She talks about how you do everything. How you’re the one with the answers. That you can ‘make sad things stop hurting.’ It’s honestly pretty incredible.”

You nod, but something about the way Keller says it makes you set your jaw. “We both raise her.”

“Of course,” he says quickly, glancing at Rafe like he just remembered he was in the room. “I didn’t mean otherwise. It’s just—she clearly adores her mom.”

Rafe lets out a quiet breath beside you. Not a loud one. But it’s there.

“She’s social, which is great,” Keller continues. “But she’s also kind of… rallying the troops, if you know what I mean. Leading a full-on storytelling circle during math hour. We’re just trying to help her learn when to share and when to listen.”

“She gets that from you,” Rafe says, nudging your elbow gently, a little grin on his face. “The storytelling part.”

You glance at him sideways. “You’re not exactly quiet yourself.”

His smile widens, like you remembering who he used to be means something to him.

Mr. Keller smiles too—though not at Rafe. His eyes are still on you. “Do you think you could come in next week for reading time? Vivianna keeps saying your voices are better than mine.” He laughs, like it’s a joke, but it’s not really. “Would be fun to see that in action.”

You blink. “Uh… maybe.”

“Just let me know. I can work around your schedule.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Rafe leans back in his chair slowly, one arm stretching across the back of yours like it just ended up there, except it’s a little too tense to be accidental. He’s not touching you. But it’s a claim.

“Think we’ve covered everything?” Rafe asks, tone too even. Not angry. But off.

Keller clears his throat. “Yes, for now. Thanks again for coming in.”

You stand, pushing your chair back with a soft scrape. Keller gives you a smile you don’t return.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you’re back in the hallway. “Real friendly guy,” he mutters, jaw tight.

You glance at him. “He was doing his job.”

“Oh, sure. Talking about your voice, your schedule, looking at you like you’re a single mom on a dating app—yeah, super professional.”

You pause, one eyebrow lifting. “Are you seriously jealous of Vivi’s preschool teacher right now?”

Rafe stops walking. “I’m not jealous of him. I’m pissed because he looked at you like you weren’t already mine.”

The silence that follows is sharp. Your breath catches in your chest.

“You don’t get to say that,” you say quietly. “You had your chance to be something more. You didn’t take it.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, raw. “But I’m still here. I’m still trying. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You hold his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach twist—hope, desperation, guilt, love that’s still clumsy but real.

“I’m not going to be something you win back just because another man looked at me,” you tell him. “You want me? Prove you deserve this family.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just nods, quietly. Then falls into step behind you again.

Still following. Still learning how to show up.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @hearts4hughes