#sometimes julia writes

[graviconscientia]

It was a ritual. Every Sunday night, you'd sit at your vanity, curling your hair, painting your lips red, making yourself as beautiful as possible. From there, you'd wait for a message from your beloved, with as much patience as you possessed, and once you received it, you'd dress yourself in green (to match his eyes) and send yourself across time and space to fall into his arms. He gave you every one of his Mondays for as long as he could, and you were so happy to have them. Every week, the same coordinates, the same giddiness, the same promise of a future together.

You never forgot those rituals. Not then, not for 66 sweeps, and not now.

There had been an uneasiness creeping through your bones, unhappiness in every fiber of you, and a sickening longing that was leading you to dangerous questions, and even more perilous answers. You've been lucky enough to fall in love so quickly, and to have the opportunity to tend to such wondrous loves. You know this. You know that this is good fortune, unearned. It will end. You hope it won't, you know it will. After all, your luck in love has run out before. You lost three breathtaking, brilliant, once-in-a lifetime loves in one go. It could happen again.

And those loves that you held for so long (and still. still.) remained tethered to you, your heart holding onto them by a single thread, thinner than a strand of hair, frayed in many places, but never broken. Kanaya had spoken of holding candles-- wax-wicked lights, she called them-- for the people she loved that vanished from her life, just like you had. To hold so many, she said, was exhausting, but she had done it. And you had done the same. Three candles, still alight, still burning bright, but for how long?

For each of those loves, you've decided to find them, to follow every trail to its end. Kanaya. Rufioh. Theodore. There is no moving on until you know what happened to each of them. This was not decided overnight, though. You have been planning on doing this since the first night of The Unbinding. The moment you were separated, you began your search. Coordinates were written down daily to prevent forgetting, lists of locations were created for when you regained your freedom, questions were asked of scholars and sorcerers and scientists. These were the rituals you did when you could not perform others.

Kanaya had provided to be the simplest search. She was exactly where you left her, and had moved so far from where you had seen her last. Seven years. A little over three sweeps. She said it was nothing in comparison to 143 years. Perhaps, but you didn't feel that way. Seven years is a long time to hold space for someone, to keep the flame of a candle burning. She still speaks with kindness and humour and enough of a bite to remind others what she's capable of, still shines like the stars you wished on every night, but her eyes are tired, her voice is sharper, her heart is far more battered. Part of it is because of age. Part of it is your doing. And for that, you will spend the rest of your life working to repair what you ruined.

Rufioh was next, a search that led you across planets and timelines, doomed and dead and desperate to find him. Night after night, you bounced from location to location, finding pieces and clues he'd left behind. A name, a scrap of fabric, a memory in someone else's mind. On one planet, the Summoner was stoking the flames of rebellion, on another, he hadn't been seen for eons. He was with a large group of rowdy men here, a dangerous woman in blue there, but never long enough to spot him, never long enough to know he's alright. The last planet you follow him to, they tell you they know the name, they know the face, but they haven't been able to track him down either. You use your last resort then and there, a bracelet with trans-dimensional travel capabilities, one that connects you to the person and not to a place. When you hold the bracelet against a pulse point to use it, you close your eyes and think of him. You remember his beautiful stained glass wings, his cocksure smile, his laugh, his kindness, his passion, every wonderful bit of him you've kept in your heart for ages, and you hope the bracelet will bring you right to him.

When you open your eyes, you are back in your room, holding a shirt of his that he left in your room many moons ago. The tears that pour from your eyes, your heart, stain his gorgeous rust with teal. You wail his name for hours, but it doesn't bring him back to you. It never will.

The last is Theodore, and he proves to be the most difficult. Kanaya and Rufioh are trolls-- wherever they were wouldn't be all too alarmed by your appearance. But Theodore is human… Human in a time before trolls have made their presence known. Human in a city with many eyes and just as many dangers for those who have never been before. But you have. You went every Sunday night. Still, you had to wait for one key component. When your children send you your perception disruptor-- a ring of alexandrite and gold, one that cloaks your appearance to the naked eye-- you have all you need to begin.

You ask before you move, if anyone has been to New York City recently. You ask, too, if anyone is willing to accompany you. (you frame it as a date for current lovers. you do not tell anyone that you might not be brave enough to face past lovers on your own.) The answers are all kind, and you are struck with guilt when you understand how genuine they are, and how none of it matters when you have enough nerve to go it alone.

The first evening was for information. Does the city still stand? What are the people like now? Are Roxy and Rose around? What about Arthur English? Does he still live where you used to visit every Monday? Does he still live? You walk through the Upper East Side, trying to push through the haze of memories to stay on task, to make sure your mission is completed. But you find yourself grabbing a meal in a diner you used to frequent (and take just one coffee to go, not two), you change your path to pass by a brownstone that had grown beautiful pansies years ago (and still does), you wander into a bookstore that you had been regulars at (and find that Dr. Theodore Scratch is writing biographies of New York mobsters now, and signed a few copies for purchase. you do not hesitate in buying one that has his signature inside). To walk around the city like this, it's so easy. It's just like you remember. It's just like you would do on Mondays. But it's not the same. Your left hand is empty. And even in the summer, the city is so much colder without Theodore next to you.

The next evening, with nerves steeled and bravery threatening to flutter right out of your throat, you sit at your vanity, curling your hair, painting your lips red, making yourself as beautiful as possible. Just like before, you check how you look as a troll, then switch to see what others will perceive. You haven't changed the settings on your perception disruptor in 66 sweeps; your human appearance is fair-skinned with freckles, bright orange-red hair, and blue eyes with just a touch of green. The scars on your skin and the grey in your hair still show, but so does the red on your lips. You don't wait for a message before you slip on your dress (green, to match his eyes) and grab a wax-sealed letter before sending yourself to coordinates you never forgot, ones that place you outside of a high-rise, on steps where you frightened a group of drunken young girls with your troll visage and had to be rescued by him once, where you stumbled on the way up and fell into his arms rather often, where you kissed each other on the very top step hundreds of times.

It's still the same. You know everything has changed, but the building still stands. His name is still on the buzzer by the door. You are still hoping that he'll want to see you, that he hasn't forgotten you, that he might still love you.

You fiddle with the letter for a moment, chin tilted up as your eyes are locked onto his window, all the way at the top of the building, and you think you see movement behind curtains. Something compels you to go to the other side of the street so you can see the window better, and your heart nearly stops when Theodore steps out onto his balcony. There's a glass of wine in his hand (white, like you used to drink with him), and glasses on his face (handsomely styled, as always), and you can hear him laughing so many stories above you. There's a glance over his shoulder for someone, and you think you can hear Roxy yelling from inside, but you do not recognise the other person who steps out onto the balcony and presses a kiss to his cheek. It's hard to see who it is when your vision is blurry with tears, tears you don't even realise are streaming down your cheeks. You wonder if he reconciled with his ex-wife, or if he found someone right after you vanished, or if he waited for you. Wonder all you want, you think, but what does it matter? You can wonder for the rest of your life, but you will never get an answer.

There is one more laugh, one you are so lucky to hear-- one you will hold onto forever-- and he heads back inside with his companion, closing the door behind them, but leaving the curtains open. You watch the silhouettes of people pass by the window for what feels like seconds and hours simultaneously, the longest moment you've ever felt, and you can't recall exactly when you ran out of tears. You are only pulled out of your reverie when the curtains close, and the lights behind them go out. He's gone to bed for the night. He's gone to you, forever. You will not ask him to return to you, but you wish, oh, how you wish, he would.

The letter in your hands is heavy, now that he's gone, and you think of its contents. You wrote an explanation, you wrote of love, you wrote of wanting and waiting, but now it feels wrong to give that to him. How cruel of you to come back and wound him like that. He's moved on with his life. But maybe… maybe he'd want to know. Maybe he'd want to know what happened to the girl he fell in love with twelve years ago, the girl he lost four years after that. Maybe.

So you find yourself back in your bedroom in a blur, frantically writing something new-- an apology, more than anything. There is still an explanation, but the only love you place in it is at the very end, right above your name. What good would any more sentimentality do for him? There is a mention, though, that you will not resent him if he never reaches out to you. You know how long he's been waiting. And you know humans don't get all that long to live…

Once it's sealed, you're back on the steps, back at the buzzer, and you practically slam the letter into his mailbox, the original draft still tucked into your pocket. The letter is out of your hands now. It will end up in his soon. Let it be one last thing you share. Let it be something he holds onto for just a little longer. Let it be a beautiful memory at the end of a beautiful love. You might not be the love of his life, but you still think he might be, he absolutely could have been, yours. Lost in thought, you stand by the door for a while, only pulled out of it when a young woman's voice can be heard on the other side of the threshold. It could be Roxy. You do not stay long enough to find out if you're right.

You're gone in a flash, pressing your bracelet to your wrist, but you've gone right from the frying pan into the fire. Now you've ended up on another lover's stoop (another twisted ritual, it seems), and you wish, so terribly, that you had the foresight to go home first, that you had changed out of your dress, that you had turned off your perception disruptor. So when Simon-- kind, tender, caring, perfect Simon-- greets you, with nothing but love in his voice and concern in his eyes, you feel nothing but overwhelming shame and sorrow.

And nothing, not even him holding you close and whispering gentle words of comfort, can stop you from howling in grief in his arms until exhaustion wins and your voice turns hoarse.

[cleo-serotonin]

thinking about how rikki was betrayed by zane, ultimately suffering the fate of her 1950’s mermaid counterpart despite how hard she fought for things to turn out different

[totaled-drama]

Hi ! Can I request a comic from your fic? Whatever scene you want, I just think it could be cool to see your words into art ! Thank you ! :D

Thank you for the request!!! And thank you for reading my fic, I’m glad you liked it!! :)

[rigginsstreet]

me in my mind: yeah this characters realistically a verse in the relationship. hashtag equality

me writing: bottombottombottombottombottombottombottom

[coffinsister]

I don't know if you've heard To The Moon and Back by Savage Garden. But you should check it out. It gives me hard Ashley vibes, especially about her feelings towards Andrew.

I checked it out! And this song really is so like Ashley's family issues with her absent father and her hateful mother, I also find it's very similar with her feelings towards her "friends" like Julia and Nina.

And the motiff about going off to find somewhere they both belong is really cute and very coffincest

[chiropteracupola]

thinkin about the imaginary timeline where antonia sharpe and fanny and charlotte aubrey are friends again...

[caruliaa]

the problem with carulia is that there isnt a rly good classic multi chap au fanfic for it for me to loose my mind over. and most of the multi chap fanfic that is out there for it straight up bad if i remeber right 👍🏽

[f1uckinghell]

.

[graviconscientia]

eavesdrop :eyes:

You've made your way to Ghouston again, to check in with Dirk about your hand, to see just how far along he is in rebuilding it. He says he wants to look at the old wiring again-- and it is old.

He works carefully, with surgical precision, eyes focused on the skeleton Kareem built ages ago, sending small volts through the wiring to test your reflexes (they're shit, you've discovered), watching as electricity reacts with the magic that Cyther Kaiser had written into your skin. Frustrating, but fascinating. It wasn't going to be a clean build, but the more Dirk learned, the better his prosthetics would be.

At least, that is how both of you consoled yourself.

"We should get some… I don't know, a warlock? To scrub your arm of spells."

"Oh, Cyther Kaiser would be devastated if he learned his Uncle Dirk was upset at his handiwork." You smirk, and he sends another pulse through your arm, almost in retaliation.

"Yeah, well, I can be 'The Dirk formerly known as Uncle' if he gets pissed. He can get over it and readopt me later, if he feels up to it. Your kids have more uncles than just me, don't they?"

"They used to have many. Rufioh and Theodore and Saturn and Phylus and so many more… But now, it's just you, and Sollux."

"Sollux. Which one?"

You smile warmly, and he looks up at your face for a moment, waiting for an answer. "Ghosty. But you know, with a two instead of an 's'."

"Par for the course for those guys." He smirks, and you follow suit.

"It is rather interesting what holds across timelines, across lifetimes…" A gentle musing, and there is silence from Dirk as he pokes further into your forearm, but you know he's able to be attentive to both his task and you. "He is Sollux, like so many of his alternates, but so very one of a kind. He's kept his quirk, and wrigglerish humour-- at least with me, but he's grown so much since I saw him. He kept a place for our friendship, too. I am grateful he brought that along with him."

"You think he would've left it behind?"

"I think… I wouldn't fault him for it if he had. Considering I left everything behind."

A small pause between the two of you as you press your own lips together tightly, and he delivers another zap to the wires. "Not everything. You brought love with you, there and back."

"I can't imagine a life where I do not love him. He is one of my best friends, one of the oldest, one of the ones I fought to keep close for sweeps. I told him I had his portrait painted early on, so I wouldn't forget his face. I never forgot our jokes, how easy being with him was, how fun it always was… He's different from when I knew him well, though. I suppose, so am I."

"Addie…" The soldering iron is placed down for a moment, and he makes sure orange meets teal, that your eyes are locked together. "That's a good thing. You grew up, apart, and then back together. He wants that, even if you think you shouldn't have that. He's a good friend. And so are you."

You hold his gaze for a little, and you know he can feel your heartbeat, a quickened pace for a moment, then a slower count once he's said his piece. Your good hand reaches for him, squeezing at his wrist, and he smiles softly with you, then rolls his eyes.

"He can be a good friend all he wants, though. I'm the better one, and I'm the best uncle, too."

"Try telling that to him when he fully lifts you above his head to toss you like a ragdoll."

"Oh shit? He can do that?"

[redjayson]

about to indulge in some truly horrendous posture in order to type up the several hundred words currently locked away in my notebook

[pjshermann]

Shamelessly plugging my A Little Life fanfic here for the shawties

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Also not a fan of FE5 having the arena be a fight to the death again, but that’s also kind of a moot point considering I’m too broke to even meet the entry wager.

[lemoncrushh]

MASTERLIST

>> Learn a little about me and my writing here <<

>> Check out all my old fics on Wattpad (2015-2022) << * I am currently reposting old fics here since Wattpad decided to delete some. *

Everything is in order from oldest to newest. You will see me adding more links to the top as I'm reposting old fics.

Show Me Your Texts, or It's Over Harry finds out you've been in contact with your ex and gives you an ultimatum.

Just for the Record After returning home from a concert with Harry, you share a smoke and a bed.

Scars You have scars and are hesitant about letting Harry see you naked for the first time.

I Miss You You’ve grown frustrated and lonely because Harry is always busy.

Best Friends You and Harry are best friends, but he would love for it be more.

Rooms On Fire (The Morning After) You meet Harry Styles at a party and have an amazing night.

Slave 4 U 2 Harry is ready to take you home for a little role play.

The Opera You and Harry can’t keep your hands off each other at the opera.

My Home You and Harry visit his family, but you have to stay in Gemma’s room.

A Night Out with Harry You take care of Harry after a drunken night out.

Back For You Harry is in town, and you go visit him at the hotel.

Melt A sexy evening with Harry.

Heartstrings You become One Direction’s new guitarist and you and your best friend Harry realize you have feelings for each other.

What's It Like You can’t sleep and decide to pay Harry a visit in the next room.

The Lucky One Harry is not too pleased when you run into your old high school crush at a restaurant.

Too Long It’s been too long since you and Harry have had sex.

Anniversary Pancakes Harry and his daughter make breakfast for his wife on their anniversary

We're Gonna Have a Baby Telling Harry he’s gonna be a dad.

Lyrics and Melodies: AM A very smitten Harry takes Julia back to his place for drinks and more music.

Claiming His Territory Harry gets jealous when he thinks another guy fancies you, and he decides to claim his territory.

This Is Me You're Talking To You and Harry are divorced, but you both still have feelings for each other.

Meeting Harry Styles After actress Mia Tangelo meets Harry Styles at a One Direction concert, he surprises her by showing up at her film premiere.

Kiss Me Kiss Me Samantha and Harry’s story of young romance and a first kiss.

Sweat Some post-workout sex.

Saturday Night Harry needs comforting after his performance on SNL.

Live From New York Harry’s on SNL and he gets a little jealous when he thinks you’re not there for him.

Leather and Lace The night Harry sang with Stevie at the Troubadour.

I Wish That It Could Be Like That An affair with Harry has taken its toll and is no longer enough.

Faithfully Harry shares the story of how you two met and fell in love.

Running On Empty An unfortunate incident at the gym.

Sometimes It Be That Way Soon after a breakup, Lilliana met Harry…but their relationship may have been doomed from the start.

Stones T-Shirt Commenting on Harry’s Rolling Stones shirt at a party leads to going to a concert with him.

Carrot Cake Harry has something he’s been wanting to ask Y/N, but the timing is never right.

Kinda Perfect It’s a girls’ night out and Harry shows up, but you decide not to let your new friend Tiffany know that Harry is your boyfriend.

What Happens In Vegas... Your Vegas trip to celebrate your friend’s birthday turns into a night you hadn’t expected when you meet Harry Styles in the casino.

Easy Like Sunday Morning It's your last day with Harry before he leaves.

Connect Not wanting to lose their connection, Lily takes a surprise trip to see Harry.

Comfort Food Jessica, a self-proclaimed foodie, helps her classmate Harry study for their Biology test.

Her Album Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it. [in Harry's POV]

Ruin the Friendship It’s Ella’s birthday, and her best friend Harry plans to tell her how he feels about her.

You and I Alyssa always wanted Harry, so every time he called, she was there waiting for him at the bar. But one night, things shifted between them.

Rain Rain Lexie is on her way to visit her sister, and she’s taking Harry on the road trip with her, planning to drop him off at his friend’s house for a wedding. But the weather has other plans.

That Sunday, That Summer Kelly’s roommate Bianca talks her into participating in a celebrity charity scavenger hunt that Harry Styles surprisingly attends.

Friends Don't Harry and Gabriella have been good friends for a few years. But neither of them knows the feelings the other has.

Dressing For Revenge // Part 2 Still heartbroken from finding your ex cheating on you, you go to a nightclub with your friend Kelsie, where not only do you run into your ex, but also a handsome gentleman who’s willing to help you get over him.

Kiss Me Deadly The annual Halloween party at the local pub has Y/N excited when she decides to invite her boss at the University, Mr. Styles. But she soon begins to second guess her decision when Harry starts acting odd. Is Harry Styles really who she thinks he is? Will this Halloween be a fantasy come true…or the kiss of death?

Through the Wall Harry is your handsome neighbour, and you keep hearing him through the wall.

bad idea harry styles is back from uni and he looks better than you remember. problem is, he's your ex's brother.

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored part 2 of bad idea - after that one night with harry, you can't stop thinking about him...but things don't exactly turn out like you'd hoped.

Touch You’ve been having a hard time getting yourself off, so your roommate Harry offers a hand.

Filthy Cute You and Harry are in a secret relationship, and you get a little jealous when you think he’s flirting with your friend.

Out of Bounds After a few years of being a housewife, Tisa Jordan decided to go back to school. Hoping to find inspiration and a new direction in life, she didn’t expect to meet Harry Styles, a handsome British twenty-year-old. [39 chapters, reposting daily]

Cubicle  I’m Harry. I have a mundane job where I sit in a cubicle all day. But things just got better because the hottest babe just started working here. And I’m determined to make her mine, even if just for one night. I’m Roni. I just started this new job, but all I can think about is the hottie in the corner cubicle. I think he likes me too. [22 chapters]

Fratboy Harry Harry Styles was a boy with a reputation, one that you couldn’t care less about. Yet one night at a frat party changed everything. [10 parts]

The Entertainer Set in the 70s, Sky Jones, a young woman from L.A., meets Harry Styles, an up-and-coming musician and frontman for the band Wildfire. Told in first person from Sky’s point of view, she shares her journey and what it’s like to fall for a rockstar. [10 parts]

Too Far From Texas Stacey Barnett is a writer and a single mother. Her hands full with two daughters (one with special needs), a newly published novel, an extroverted best friend and a controlling ex-husband, the last thing she expects is to meet an international pop star. [33 chapters]

Seven Six Five They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again. (Real Harry x Plus Size OC, enemies to lovers) [6 parts]

Tattooed Heart You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion. (Tattoo artist!harry x waitress y/n, enemies to lovers) [6 parts]

The Entertainer II * Updates will be sporadic * What if it wasn’t the end? What if Sky did actually see Harry at the Forum in the early 80s, and he saw her too? What if fate took hold of them both, and they realized their journey was not over? Set in 1981, Harry and Sky’s story continues with more music, more romance, and a few more twists and turns.

Wild Horses * Updates will be sporadic * Amber Crosby didn’t end up with the life she’d expected, but that didn’t keep her from following her dream. A young, up and coming country recording artist, she and her band set out to do just that. Trying to leave her past behind, it wasn’t until meeting Harry Styles that she realized just how her life could take a turn and alter her future forever.

Ko-fi (if you're feeling generous and would like to support me)

Inbox (for requests, feedback or general chat)

divider credit

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

since it's pride month, i want to highlight my favorite underrated/underappreciated queer characters and ships! (part 1/???)

(feel free to add more!)

Lake - Infinity Train (non-canon)

it's not canon but you cannot tell me that Lake isn't an allegory for trans/nb people. her arc is so beautiful and her character resonates with me so much!

i have to admit, i actually kinda hated her in the beginning because of how aggressive and rude she was, but she actually gets good character development and you can also understand why she was the way she was, being a good representation of a minority who is constantly suffering because of the social norms she’s forced into. also i don’t ship her with jesse but i do like the idea of them in a qpr or just being platonic besties.

(i use she/her pronouns for Lake because that's what they use in the series, but also because not all non-binary people use they/them, and it's kinda weird to see people insist on using they/them for Lake just because she's nb-coded. she has never shown an aversion to bring referred to with she/her pronouns.)

Le Chevre x El Topo - Carmen Sandiego (canon)

they are side characters who don't play a huge role in the narrative but they are a really cute couple and have been confirmed to be canon! even without the confirmation, it’s clear that they were written to be a romantic couple.

mild spoiler: after the series ends, they stop being antagonists and instead put up a food truck together! it’s the cutest thing, i swear

Ryan x Min-gi - Infinity Train (non-canon)

my OTP through and through! i say non-canon but the romance is so heavily implied, you cannot ignore it.

they're a good example of childhood friends who had a complicated relationship where both individuals did something wrong, but in the end, they grow as people and manage to mend their relationship together.

Moomin x Snufkin - Moominvalley (canon)

i have only read one of the books and watched a few clips of these two characters but from that alone, it's clear that they were written as lovers (and the author is queer too!)

they are a beautiful portrayal of long-distance relationship where both individuals have different needs in life, but still want to be with each other regardless.

Terrestrius / Terry - The Dragon Prince (canon)

Terry is canonically transmasc and they actually manage to explain this in the series, without making it sound too forced or expository. he's such a sweetheart too, and his relationship with Claudia is actually really sweet, despite the fact that she's one of the villains.

Carmen x Julia - Carmen Sandiego (non-canon)

again, i say non-canon but it is heavily implied that they have feelings for each other, especially in the extra interactive episode, where Carmen leaves a bouquet of red roses for Julia, and Julia is shown to blush when receiving them.

Amaya x Janai - The Dragon Prince (canon)

what’s that? it’s actually possible to write an enemies to lovers romance that is healthy and not extremely abusive?

Amaya and Janai have such a good relationship in S5 (and Amaya is also a great disabled representation!) Janai actually learns sign language to communicate with Amaya, and there are no unnecessary miscommunication plots or drama, they’re just a really loving wlw couple.

Benson x Troy - Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (canon)

when i say we need more mlm ships in animated media!! i’m so glad us sapphics are getting a lot of representation but it’s time cartoons started including more queer men.

benson and troy are just a really sweet couple with a good relationship that doesn’t have a ton of pining or unnecessary angst. while i love complex and tragic queer relationships, i also think that it’s good to show teenagers just being teenagers sometimes.

this opinion seems to be scarce in the queer community, which really annoys me tbh.

Raine x Eda - The Owl House (canon)

i cannot believe that given the popularity of TOH, Raeda is still such an overlooked ship. this might be an unpopular opinion but Raeda is better written and has more chemistry than Lumity and Huntlow.

just within the span of Raine's introductory episode, they managed to establish a clearly romantic past between these two characters, and also an interesting dynamic. and even though they didn't have much screentime, they still turned out to be the best ship in the series. (again, just my opinion, don't come at me)

i think it's so important to show older queer people in media, just as it is important to show younger queer characters. it helps establish the fact that queerness has always existed and isn't some newfound trend that social media invented. not to mention, raeda is one of the very few canon ships that include a non-binary character.

[anatay004]

ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ | ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ (+ 18)

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ’ꜱ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴅ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ, ɪɴ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ, ʜᴇ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ.

manipulation, obsession, jealousy, dub-con, and smut.

ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

YOU WEREN'T AVOIDING HIM.

Or, at least, that's what you liked to tell yourself. You were simply taking a step back from him, allowing yourself to escape from his searing touch, his scarring lips, and poisoned vows. You were stepping out of the picture, allowing him a moment to relish his wife, to engulf in her presence and take her in. In hopes of diminishing yourself from the recesses of his mind — in hopes she could replace you somehow.

It was your wedding present to him.

After all, you were just his lover. You could never be something more — nor did you wish to be, not after everything that he'd put you through. After you'd won the 12th Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow had made sure to haunt you down. He’d made sure to corner you into his command with thinly-veiled threats, to eliminate any obstacles on his way and take you as his and only his. No matter the consequences.

Like an object.

Like a treasure.

He did everything in his power to have you. To tether himself to the fibers of your skin, to burrow beneath your bones, and settle in. He was like a drug to you — deathly yet addictive, and sometimes you even wondered if you were right in the head. To accept his pleasures, his lips, and his body against yours — even though you didn't have much of a choice most of the time.

You hated him.

For taking away the remnants of humanity that was once inside of you. For haunting your mind during the daytime and behind shut eyelids. For making you his in every way possible.

And yet he went through all of that trouble to marry another woman.

At first, it pestered you — to think you weren't worthy of such a title. To think you weren't worthy of being the First Lady of Panem after all the shit that he'd put you through. But then, you thought of it as an opportunity to escape him. Try to reconnect with your old self and run away from him for as long as you could.

And that's what you did.

When the wedding was announced, you packed your stuff and fugitively came back home to your district. You hadn't seen your family for months, Snow had made sure to isolate you from anyone you ever shared some type of affection with. He hated sharing you. So, he forced you to move to the Capitol with him, despite the funny looks and whispers that ricocheted off the walls.

Everyone, somehow, knew you were his.

And yet, nobody dared to speak of it loudly.

Not even your family.

Afraid it might just sentence them to death (wish you knew, would most likely be the case).

One week elapsed eventually. You heard from him through the news, he'd married Julia Pompey in a matter of days before your departure. It comforted you — to think it was finally over until the roses began to arrive one day. You’d asked your mother to throw them away, to which she didn't object to, she was well aware of the thinly-veiled message behind them.

She was aware of the powerful man that haunted you.

It started with a single rose at first, but by the end of the week, they were bouquets of roses sitting outside your door. There was no letter attached to them, he didn't need to write one — you knew the message perfectly well. He was asking for you to come back to him.

It almost made you sick.

But you tried to dismiss it.

You tried to move on with your life. You busied yourself with banal tasks at home. You helped your mother clean and cook your favorite meals. And, although there wasn't much talking between the two of you, you enjoyed her presence all the same. It was nice to have her gentleness, after the games, loneliness seemed to be the only thing that accompanied you everywhere you go — it made you weaker, easier for Snow to break.

And that's what he did.

He broke you apart just to put you back together.

Until your mother could no longer recognize you. But in fleeting moments like this, when you lingered behind her frame and watched her bake your favorite muffins like a child, she was able to see a few glimpses of the daughter that was once taken away from her.

After all, you weren't completely lost yet.

But you knew it wouldn't last.

You were coming back from the bakery one afternoon when you noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere inside your home. The house was awfully quiet — the loudest kind of silence you'd ever heard before, and your mother was unexpectedly greeting you at the door. A fake smile curved her lips, it was almost concerning, but before you could open your mouth and ask if something was wrong, a peacemaker stumbled into your line of vision.

"Ms. (Y/LN), please follow me."

Your muscles wracked with tension when the peacemaker beckoned you towards the end of the hall and into the office located at the far end of the house. You offered your mother a faint smile on the way, assuring her that everything was going to be okay — but you knew better.

The door was shut behind you with a quiet thud when you stepped inside the room. You knew he was waiting for you inside. The smell of roses immediately settled into your nostrils and you shivered, the aroma forced its way down your throat until you could almost taste it. He was sitting across from you at the desk, leaning back on the chair as he examined your features very quietly.

When you finally looked up to meet his gaze, the sight of his tousled blonde curls caught you completely off guard. He looked exhausted, dark circles marred his skin like he hadn't slept for days. You'd never seen him like this before.

You disliked it.

"President Snow," You greeted after a moment of silence, relishing the way his jaw visibly clenched at the formality of your words. He hated when you called him anything, but Cory.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He spat through his teeth suddenly. If glares could've killed, you've been six underground by then.

You feigned an innocent look on your face. "I haven't done anything at all."

"You left home," He argued, and the mere sound of the words made your skin prickle with goosebumps. The Capital was not your home — he was not your home, but you didn't dare to blurt that out into the open air. "And you left no fucking letter, no indication of when you were coming back — nothing!"

"I assumed your wife wouldn't like having me around," You responded simply, holding back your breath when his expression darkened completely and a humorous smile itched his lips. "Congratulations on the wedding, by the way."

"Is that what this is about?" He scoffed, pushing back on his chair almost immediately. The wood scuffing against the floor made you wince. "Is that why you left? Because you were jealous?"

Anger retaliated in the pit of your stomach. You were not jealous, on the contrary, you were almost glad he'd someone else to fuck with. Because then — maybe, you could be free from him. And the nightmares could finally go away.

But you didn't say anything.

Afraid that you might just say that.

He didn't mind that, instead, he took a few deliberate steps closer to you. Instinctively, you fell back a few steps, until your back was pressing against the wall and there was nowhere to run.

"Do you want to know why I married her?" He questioned as his voice notched down a few decibels. He was standing close — too close, his face was merely inches away from touching yours. You could feel his warm breath pressing against your skin as he spoke. "Because I hate her. Because she means nothing to me."

You stilled for a moment, reeling over his words. For some reason, the logic behind his marriage didn't surprise you as much as it should've. Coriolanus Snow was a tactful man, you knew him like the palm of your hand — he didn't act before having a plan. So, you shrewdly assumed, that marrying Julia Pompey was just one of his ways of securing immunity to threats.

His enemies couldn't hurt him if they killed her — or their future children. Because he didn't love or care enough for her. Not one bit.

"Do you know what I did on my wedding night?" He added, voice sliding evenly into your thoughts. His hand carefully raised to touch your face, to stroke the skin of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "Do you know who I thought of when I dismissed her and locked myself in our room?"

You clenched your jaw as you registered his words, not wanting to listen any further.

His thumb pressed against your bottom lip. "When I took my pants off and jerked all night off until I was numbed?"

You turned your head away, but he gripped his hand around your cheeks to keep you in place. You threw him a look, but he dismissed it with little care. He wanted you to look into his eyes.

"Guess who I thought of?"

You didn’t answer.

“Guess who kept me going?” His hands dropped to tighten around your throat.

“Stop it, Coriolanus,” You hissed, pressing the palm of your hand against his chest harshly.

He didn’t falter.

“You know she could never replace you,” He continued, as if was the most obvious thing in the world. “She could walk around naked and I would much rather turn to look at the filthy floor. She means absolutely nothing to me.” He repeated, and — for some reason, you were certain he was telling the truth.

And it suddenly dawned on you that — no matter how far you ran, no matter how fast you did; you would never actually escape him. And the daunting realization peppered visible goosebumps over your skin again.

“I know.” You limited yourself to answer.

“So, why the fuck are you avoiding me?” He snapped, eyes suddenly turning obscure as he waited for an answer. “Are you punishing me?”

I wish I was, you thought to yourself.

“Of course not.”

“Then why the fuck are you running away from you?” He hissed, examining your face carefully before an amused smile itched his lips “As if you could ever escape me, sweetheart.”

You glared at him.

He didn’t deign to give you a response.

Instead, he pressed his lips against yours — obliterating any sudden rationality or lucid thought that you could’ve had in mind at that moment. You found yourself shutting your eyes when his tongue swept past your lips and delved hot inside your mouth. He was desperate and frantic — he’d missed you. You didn’t fight it, because, at the end of the day, you knew it would be pointless. You knew you would be right back in the same game — run and being chased.

And he would catch you every damn time.

Despite how much you hated it.

“Come back home.” He commanded, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back to catch his breath. His hands were sliding under your shirt, tracing arbitrary patterns over your stomach before his hands raised to make their way up to your warm chest.

“Cory — ” You protested when he buried his head in your neck and began to kiss your skin like there was no tomorrow. You could hear voices behind the door, and concerned whispers from your family as they tried to piece together what was happening behind those closed doors.

Would he kill you?

Would he kill them?

You almost wanted to laugh at that. You wish he could just kill you right there and then.

If they only knew.

“We can’t — ” You tried again, but his lips met yours with such fervor that you couldn’t even finish your sentence. Within a blink of an eye, he slid an arm behind your waist and carried you up to throw you over the desk behind him. You tried to protest again, but it only seemed to incite him even more as he racked up your skirt.

“Say you’ll come back home.” He commanded, his voice rasping as he pulled his pants down. You didn’t answer, instead, you parted your legs and took him in like you’d always done. He slid in and out with slow thrusts and you almost hated the gentleness of his moves. A moan silently slipped out your mouth when he touched every right spot — until your toes were curling, and an orgasm was washing over you.

You hated how well he knew you.

You hated that the only thing you could do was hold back the tears.

When he finished, he collapsed on top of you. Face buried inside your neck as he waited for the response he knew you would never deny him.

“I’ll come back home.”