pumpkenpie
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“Please don’t touch me.” Mack rushes out in a small voice, as the tears spring back to his eyes.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like it.”
“Yes you do.” Toff says with such certainty it startles him.
“No I don’t, I never have.” Mack protests.
“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”
or
5 times macklin ran away from touch, and the one time he didn't
Bookmarked by pumpkenpie
06 Nov 2025
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“It could be nice. Right? We could get a cool house, and like, a dog. Or two, maybe. Have you seen those golf simulators? We could get one of those. And I want a pool.”
“Mack.”
Silence, thick and striking.
“Just imagine it,” Mack whispers, “Just pretend for a minute, okay? We aren’t getting married, I know, it’s fucking stupid. But just, like, pretend.”
“It’s really late, dude. We need to sleep.”
“What kind of mattress would we have?” He asks.
He can’t help it. He has to pry, he has to dig his fingers into the cracks and pull it all apart.
Bookmarked by pumpkenpie
06 Nov 2025
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Merlin had failed. Despite all his efforts, Arthur had ended up dead in his arms on the shores of Avalon, so close to salvation. Surely, this could not be how their shared destiny was supposed to end? No, it was all Merlin’s fault—he had made all the wrong choices, misinterpreting prophecy after prophecy. If only he could go back and try again, now that he knew better, maybe he could right his wrongs. Maybe he— Oh. Maybe he could go back…
Ignoring Kilgharrah’s protests about the impossibility of what he aimed to do, Merlin let all his power loose, becoming one with the fabric of the world and the magic he was born of. After following the bond he shared with Arthur through the winding paths of time, he finally emerged a decade into the past, having successfully seized a second chance to get this whole destiny thing right. Unfortunately, he would have to win Arthur’s trust all over again, seeing as Merlin was alone in remembering anything of the future he was hoping to change. Or…was he?
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Bookmarked by pumpkenpie
04 Oct 2025
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“If you’re kissing all your girls like that,” Oscar starts, his voice is slower, drawn out, “Then its no wonder they aren’t moaning.”
It’s almost goading, the way he says it—the words undercut with a challenge. Oscar knows him too well to assume he’s going to back down.
”Yeah?” Lando tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “Big talk, Piastri. You think you’re a better kisser than me?”
Oscar rolls his eyes at his tone, there really isn’t a reason for them to be doing this. ‘Just because’ isn’t a good enough reason to make out with your best friend, no matter how drunk or high you are, and Oscar knows that. But it sticks in his chest like nicotine tar, aches with every shuddering breath he sucks in.
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“Is this all it takes then?” Max asks, instantly snatching the cherry floating on top of her drink. Charles stares resolutely into her eyes, refusing to watch the way Max’s lips wrap around the stem. “Your first race win in three years is all it takes for you to start outwardly flirting with me?”
Charles’s nose wrinkles, her face screwed up into something between disdain and confusion. She snags her straw between her teeth and takes a long drink to stop the first thought that jumped to the tip of her tongue.
“I am not flirting.”
Charles isn't gay. At least, she doesn't think she is until Max kisses her.