#(which yeah i could just not watch but what can i say. i like to be a well-informed hater lmao)

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic gives you a kind smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[reignpage]

His Loss, Their Gain

Synopsis: in which you get stood up and the jjk men are more than ready to step up for you (pre-relationship) Warnings: a little cursing, vaguely sexual language or allusions, a little angsty, but mostly fluff, crack and comfort, one-sided pining perchance, not proofread Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna Word Count: 3.6k

Gojo

He heard all about your date from Shoko when he took a student to her dark, miserable corner to get all fixed up that morning. To say he was peeved was a massive understatement. In fact, the man had been muttering ‘ooh y/n’s got a date with some non-sorcerer ooh good for her’ under his breath pretty much the entire day. 

The students are both amused and irritated by his constant yammering. 

“I go on loads of date!” He grumbled, flicking a leaf as he leans against a tree, watching the kids spar. “What’s the big deal?”

At lunch, he strolled into the teacher’s lounge and whistled some tune. As always, you were sat by the window enjoying a bento box that made his mouth water — man, what would it be like to enjoy a meal made by you.

Casually, he mused, “I heard through the grapevine, you’ve got a hot date tonight.”

You threw him an unimpressed glower. 

“Who the hell told you about that?”

Satoru shrugged. “Oh, y’know, just the grapevine. So, what’s he like?”

Nonchalant as he may have seemed, he had enough self-awareness to know that he was pretty bothered by how spruced up you’ve gotten for this guy, whoever he is. God, did you have to make your hair all pretty like that? And oh hell, is that a new perfume? 

You didn’t entertain his game, choosing to ignore his thinly veiled attempt to pry, and chose simply to poke his side, tickling him away from the path to the exit he was blocking. The white-haired man rolled his eyes, desperate to quell the smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 

That one interaction, that fleeting touch he never blocked out and that momentary glimpse at your shy smile, smothered the complaints that had been festering inside since he visited Shoko. You looked anxious, embarrassed, but more than anything, excited. Happy.

He was quiet the rest of the day. 

The students didn’t know what to make of his sudden shift in mood; he was contemplative, focused and serious. None of them complained, after all they were finally learning a thing or two but it was an odd sight, him without a smile on his face.

When the sun was lowering, and the students had all headed home, Satoru leisurely exited the school feeling, for reasons he wasn’t ready to acknowledge, more tired than usual. But then he saw you, standing at the gates staring at your phone. Checking his own, he frowned.

You were supposed to be long gone by now. 

When he appeared right beside you, you weren’t the least bit taken aback by his sudden voice. 

“Ugly loser not coming?”

Muttering, you weakly replied, “You’ve never met him. How can you possibly know he’s ugly?”

Satoru threw back a retort that you didn’t respond to. He sighed. With his hands tucked into this pockets, he nudged you. “Alright, stop pouting, let’s go get dinner. I’m starving. God, being a teacher really takes its toll on the body.”

“You barely do anything.” 

Despite yourself, you smiled. 

So did he. 

“Yeah, well, I’m still hungry anyways. So, let’s get going. Your treat.”

And despite his incredibly annoying, pretentious tone, you found yourself walking away from the school, the dwindling warmth of the sun setting behind you, with Satoru. He tried to hide his self-satisfied grin and the slight pep in his steps, and especially the peak under his blindfold at the two shadows you cast. 

For as long as other men sucked, he knew he still had a chance.

Geto

“Got plans?” 

You gave him a side glance, pulling your panties back up your legs. That arrangement of yours was complicated, to say the least. An on and off thing, neither of you could really keep your hands off each other, and all while staying as friends. Of course, the being friends part was easy — he’s fun and you’re sweet. But the staying as friends, and just as friends, was oh so difficult. 

Clearing your throat, you took the bra he was dangling from his finger with a brow raised. And you said, “Yeah. Kinda. Some guy asked me out so we’re gonna get some dinner or something.”

“Sounds exhilarating,” he mused. 

He was always like that — judgemental, mocking, and irresistible. Desperate to not be that weak, pathetic girl, you’d force yourself to move on, to see what else was out there because that thing you had with him?

It was unsustainable. 

With a sigh, you shrugged on your shirt. “Suguru, don’t.”

He chuckled and raised his arms up in surrender. And then you turned to leave but you didn’t get every far, how could you when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to his chest? You were breathless when he brushed your hair back, skimming his lips down the curve of your neck to plant a soft, barely there kiss on your shoulder. 

“Have fun.”

And then you were off. 

Leaving a long-haired man alone and frowning. Truthfully, he was itching to keep you there, to distract you with some more pleasure or a movie, but he knew that wasn’t fair. The unspoken part about the type of arrangement you two was that no one could get jealous or lay some moronic wolfy-claim on the other. 

He focused his attention instead on showering, washing away the remnants of you and even tried to wash away the idea of someone else taking you away. If this date of yours worked out, then that would effectively end your special relationship, devolving back to just ‘friends’. 

How pathetic.

No, that wasn’t the most pathetic thing about the entire ordeal. What was truly more pathetic was that he was sat, in his car, outside your place, waiting for that light in your bedroom to go and for you to leave. 

You didn’t. 

Geto groaned and threw his head back. Relieved as he was that you weren’t with some other prick, he couldn’t shake off that discomfort in his chest at the thought of you being disappointed, embarrassed or anywhere close to sad. He sent a quick text to you. Come out, he said. 

Your reply was, I’m not in the mood for sex.

Good. Neither am I.

'...' danced on the screen for a solid minute or two and he thought you were coming up with colourful ways of telling him to disappear, like 'walk off a cliff' or the classic 'fuck off', but you didn’t. Instead, he got a thumbs up and he sighed. 

Guess neither of you were willing to give up the game after all. 

Choso

He heard it from his brother. 

Who heard it from Megumi and he in turn heard it from Nobara. And the details might have differed somewhat as the information got passed along, like the time and place and with whom, but one thing remained consistent. 

You have a date. 

And man, was Choso distraught. At first, he was speechless, eyes blinking and jaw hanging. Then, he was making odd noises like steam was coming out of his ears. No one knew what to do, no one had ever taught them what the procedure was when a half-curse, half-man suffered from a nervous breakdown.

Eventually, he regained enough life to splutter, “WHAT?”

He fainted.

When he awoke, laid down on a bench, he was very surprised to find you looming over him. You looked beautiful. Positively stunning, and he was certainly stunned. He had a terrible dream, one that left him trembling, but your laughter stilled his shaking hands. 

“Choso, did you actually pass out? That’s so crazy.” 

The man couldn’t even blush. He was just so happy you were there, with him, talking and laughing, and he could pretend nothing was wrong in the world. Because, if you could smile at him with so much warmth and light and familiarity, there didn’t seem a plausible way for things to be wrong.

Pushing himself upright, he said, sheepishly, “Yeah, I think so. Um, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, y’know, just stopping by to check up on you –”

“That’s really nice of—”

“Before I head off to meet my date!”

"...what.”

You blinked at him. “I have a date. Surprised you didn’t know since the kids have been bothering me about it all day. Well, anyways, happy to see you figuratively back on your feet. Gotta get going now. Bye!”

And then you were gone, completely oblivious to the twitching of Choso’s eye and the way his pigtails quite literally deflated. 

There was a pout on his face the rest of the day. 

Only on his way back home did that pout disappear because, there, at the end of the street, was you. Only you could look that pretty when miserable. Oh, he was so happy to see you! 

Sure, you looked upset, and you were kicking a streetlamp, but he wasn’t the least bit discouraged from skipping over to you, pigtails swinging and a big, wide grin on his face. He shouted your name. You looked up, still mad, but brows relaxing ever so slightly. 

“Oh, hey, Cho. What’s up?”

“Nothing! Just heading home. What about you?”

You shrugged. “Well, I was supposed to be on a date, but he never showed up. Didn’t even text me so I guess I’m gonna head home too.”

“Oh, no. That’s terrible.”

The amused look on your face clearly conveyed your disbelief. Choso was many things, a great man, loving brother, fun friend. But a convincing liar? He was not. 

“Well,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “do you wanna just be with me? I mean! Do you want to spend some time with me? Hang out?”

You shrugged again, this time with a smile. And the both of you began walking side by side with no particular destination. He didn’t talk much, just wandered the streets with you. The sun, or at least what remained of it, was warm and the roads were empty. Neither of you could think of a better thing to do than just exist. 

Together.

Toji

“Whatd’ya just say?”

He was staring at his kid, the little boy peering back at him with a look of pure innocence. The father, holding a spoon up to his lips, was pissed the hell off. Immediately, he was calling you, still feeding the baby. Your nonchalant voice on the phone made him even more irritated. 

“Ya going on a date? Whatd’ya mean ‘none of y’r business? ‘Course it’s my business. Mother of my son prancing around with some other guy ain’t a good look on me, is it? Oh, yeah yeah, the divorce didn’t look good on you either, whatever. So? Is it true? Oh, hell. Can I use my veto? Whatd’ya mean I don't get a veto? What kinda bullshit is that?”

The little boy blabbered, rubbing salt in the man’s wound, as he reminded him his diaper needed changing, immediately, and he had blueberry compote all over his face and clothes. How the hell did the kid manage to get food on the window?

You didn't sound impressed at all, but that was always how you talked to him. And the conversation wasn't going anywhere, much to Toji's frustration. Why did he have to find out from a toddler?

Call ending soon after that, the two boys decided to make the most of their day together. 

Sat on his lap, they watched a football game on the TV. Of course, his son wasn’t really paying attention, he was far more interested in the rattling toy in his hand, and in all honesty, neither was Toji. He just kept thinking about the fact that you should be there, with them, cuddled up to his side. Not with some fucking loser. You should be home, comfortable, looking pretty for him and with a ring still on your finger, the way his ring remained on his. 

But who was he to say shit?

It was his damn fault to begin with that you were living apart. If only he had cut back on the bad habits and the dangerous jobs. Regret was a damned thing, like a coin dropped in a well and never hearing it drop. 

And then searching for another coin so you could wish to get back the fucking coin you should have never dropped to begin with ‘cause you weren’t a fucking pussy. 

Ah fuck it. 

“Wanna go piss off y’r mum?”

The kid grinned. 

And so there the two were, showing up at the door, both with shit-eating grins contrasting your stern glower. You were in a dress, a very sexy dress and Toji wasn’t shy about letting his eyes wander, and you weren’t shy about the finger you showed him. 

“Are you kidding, Fushiguro?”

“Kid couldn’t stop asking for ya, so just wanted to let him get a peek before you go off on y’r fancy date,” he replied. 

You let them in and with embarrassment lacing your words, you admitted, “Well, date’s cancelled. So, good timing.”

Grin widening, he assured you, “Ah the bastard doesn’t know what he missed out on.”

And soon, you two fell into old routines. You cooked dinner whilst Toji set the table, kid on his back. The conversation shifted from anything and everything and nothing. And after, he cleaned up as you put the baby to sleep. He followed soon after, looping an arm over your shoulder.

“We did good with him, didn’t we?”

When life was that easy, that simple, and good, one was left wondering where did it all go wrong? When did you, or him, or both start wanting more? Or was it the case that things just didn’t work out? Was there still a chance? Should there be? And for whose sake?

Guess none of that mattered. Whether that piece of paper was still there or not, the core of your relationship would never change. Not really.

“Yeah. We did.”

Nanami

There you were, a vision in your suit, sitting at your desk, the way you did every day. He loved his seat; he had the best view of the entire office. Kento especially loved that, for you to get to the water cooler, you had to walk past him, and every single time you did, you’d always stop by, asking how his day was going and whether he’d like his water bottle filling up. 

Of course, he declined your very kind offer, but only so he could walk to the water cooler with you, and for the five minutes you two had, you’d chat about all sorts of things – he was more of a listener than a talker, but you never seemed to mind. 

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you were the one good thing about this office, and he certainly looked forward to every little interaction with you. 

Until one such interaction became his worst nightmare: you had a date. Oh, and how casually you brought that up to him, as if the fluttery atmosphere between you was a figment of his imagination and the way you gushed about this other man certainly left no doubt in his mind. 

You did not like him the way he liked you. 

That was all he could think about the rest of the day. Even as he wrote up a progress report, attended a client meeting, ate his lunch with the interns he was in charge of, and even when he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on, what he was only then realising to be, a very pale face. Kento must be coming down with something. 

For the first time ever, when you got up from your desk and strolled over to his, heels clacking, and asked if he’d like his bottle filling up, he declined. It came out faster than he could process and the shock evident in both of your faces was like a crack in his glasses. 

Oh, dear. 

You were silent until the end of the day. He didn’t walk out with you, didn’t even get to say goodbye and ‘see you tomorrow’, and he had never been more miserable in his entire life. 

With a heavy sigh, he walked out of the office an hour or so later than everyone else and pulled on his tie. A nice warm bath was all he could think about, at least until he spotted you, waiting on the side of the road. You were restless, shuffling on your feet and checking your watch every couple seconds. Being of above average intelligence might not have meant he was a genius but it sure did mean he was smart enough to figure out what had happened. 

That bastard. 

“Would you like to have a drink or two with me? There are some things I’d like to talk to you about,” he said. Perhaps he shouldn’t have walked up so quietly but it was a habit of his. In that moment, as his pulse was beginning to speed up, all he could think about was how creepy he sounded – he certainly wouldn’t blame you if you ran to HR. 

“What things?” You asked. 

He smiled, a desperately casual smile to show he was sorry for his cold display. “Well, for one, I’d like to make my case clear; I’d never leave you waiting for me on a date.”

And he never did.

Sukuna

“Repeat that for me. Slow.”

You bit your lip, not at all surprised by his reaction. The King of Curses wasn’t known for his calm disposition, in fact, he was known for exactly the opposite. Still, he was nice to you, an ordinary servant in his grand estate doing this and that. One could not put a finger to exactly when this...friendship, should we say... developed but it was one you so terribly cherished. 

Working at the estate of a mass murdering, sadistic monster – your family’s words, not yours – meant you didn’t maintain many friendships. So, to have one with him felt like standing in the eye of the storm, even if that storm was always so fickle and the eye kept moving. 

“I’m. Going. On. A. Date,” you recited, enunciating every syllable loud and clear. When he gave an instruction, you’d found it was always best to be quite literal, lest he tired of your mortal limitations. 

“No.”

Blink. 

Blink. 

Adjusting your robes, you clarified, “No? Sorry, my Lord, but whatever do you mean by ‘no?’”

The tall, hulking man, or rather curse, walked on, his long legs taking him so far within seconds you had to run to catch up. He loved doing that. He thought it funny, you supposed. “Just that. No.”

“But, my Lord, I don’t think you can really interfere with my personal life.”

He stopped. 

You bumped into his back, the smell of sweet death and gentle fire filling your senses. And when he turned, looking down at you with all those eyes, one of his hands gripped your jaw, pulling you upwards and much closer to his face than ever before. 

“Can’t I?”

Then he was gone. 

You didn’t see him the rest of the day. Neither did any of the servants. Perhaps he was mad at you, after all you had no business, and no authority at that, to tell him what he could or couldn’t do. You got complacent, too confident and cocky. You overestimated the depth of your friendship and the limits of his patience. It would be a surprise to no one if you were found dead before dusk. 

There were no texts from your date. Not a single one. Not even after you texted to ask if you were still on for night. And when every call when to voicemail, you were so sure you had been ghosted before you could even meet the guy. Sukuna was right. 

Men were no good.

Living at the estate had its perks: no commute, easy access to your necessities lest you forgot something essential, and the walk over to your quarters was magnificent. The well-kept garden was beautiful and that was really as far as your feeble mind could go in terms of putting into words the glorious sight you saw every morning and night. 

But that evening had been different. 

Your master was there, in his robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the sleeves whilst the top set were crossed. He looked just as regal as he always did, and the sight made your heart clench. One secret you’d take the grave would be that the friendship you so sincerely cherished was one you also sincerely resented; to be a teased with all that you could have but would never get was a torturous pain you wouldn't wish on your worst enemies.

“My Lord, may I help you?”

He beckoned you over. When his hand reached for your head, you were sure it was to slice it clean off, but instead he picked at a fluff and flicked it away with so much disgust, revulsion, and abhorrence you couldn’t help but laugh. 

Something flashed in his eyes. And then his features softened. 

“You did not go on your date?”

You couldn’t even pretend to be sad. “No, he never replied so I guess he lost interest.”

He hummed.

The two of you began strolling again, just as you did most days, sometimes even multiple times a day when he was feeling especially irritable. The tone of his voice held a certain sharpness you couldn’t quite place and when he met your gaze, the soft glow of the lanterns making him look gentler, much more human, more...attainable, you finally spotted a speckle of what you knew to be blood, having cleaned it off the floors and walls yourself too many times. 

And your imagination ran wild, a frenzy of butterflies appearing in your stomach. 

Sukuna really was too sweet for your own good.

[merinarasauce]

Well, this is it, then.

It wasn't like Yaron hadn't... expected this. No-one on her father's side of the family made it to twenty revolutions. They just... wilted. To humans, they were remarkably long-lived, but any other member of her species would have a good thirty revolutions left.

She laid on the hot pavement as the humans shouted at her desperately, thinking to herself, what a fiasco this would be. Not only would her body have to be shipped to the nearest Jakta station for autopsy, they'd have to launch an investigation as per interstellar law, and then they'd have to transport her six hundred light years to her home planet so her family could bury her...

It was a shame. Really.

Yaron wasn't afraid to die. She'd had to confront the idea as a mere sapling, and she'd come to accept it. But still, knowing that the grieving process of her friends and family would have to be disrupted by lawkeepers, that broke her heart.

There was nothing to be done about it. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, so... she just let go.

~~~

Yaron came to with a raging headache, and she shot upright with an alarmed warble. It was so bright. There were tubes and wires running all over her body, and she felt a bandage taped over the left side of her torso.

A human in the corner wearing dull, stiff clothing yelped, dropping a tray full of tools. "Ambassador Yaron-!"

"What happened!?" she demanded, trying to stand. "Why am I not dead??"

"Please calm down-"

"Am I dead? Can't you tell me anyth-"

As soon as Yaron put her full weight on her feet, her joints gave out, and she crumpled.

Lying face-first on the ground, she cursed after a few seconds. "Is nothing simple with you humans?"

Yaron figured pretty quickly that this was a human hospital. It wasn't too far off from those built by her kind- clean, sterile, well-lit. It was much louder, that was certain. And cold.

The humans settled her back into the bed rather quickly, and as they ran some tests, someone in a white coat walked in and sat next to her. She had a round face and dark eyes, her hair pulled back neatly.

"Ambassador Yaron? I'm Dr. Nadia Mundell. I'd like to inform you about the surgery you received."

She extended a hand, which Yaron ignored, feeling sick. "Surgery? You mean- you cut me open?"

Dr. Mundell seemed a bit nervous at that. "Well- uh- it's not quite that simple. I assure you, it was a lifesaving procedure, and we took all possible measures to prevent infection."

Yaron groaned, lacing her fingers through the dense leaves on the nape of her neck. "Of course. Out of anyone, I had to be the unlucky machtarak who collapsed on the human homeworld...!"

The doctor raised a placating hand. "Let me explain what happened and what we did, alright?"

She was met with a huff and a grumbled "Fine."

Dr. Mundell reached over and took a clipboard from a nearby table, flipping through it. "We found out the reason for your collapse was an arrhythmia in your vascular heart. We performed an ultrasound scan- it's just reflected sound waves, completely harmless- and discovered a hard burl nearly blocking your aortic artery."

Yaron watched as the doctor showed her a black-and-white image, and though she didn't know much about anatomy, she could tell the bright white thing circled in red probably wasn't normal.

"It's likely your heart was working much harder than normal to maintain proper blood flow. And, thanks to your venous system, you likely didn't experience many symptoms beyond some mild pain now and again. Does that sound right?"

The ambassador just stared, dumbfounded. "...yeah, I- I guess so..."

"From what I can tell, you were probably born with a thin arterial wall, and micro-tears caused the burl to form. I know the Galactic Council finds it... uh, what did they say... barbaric. But in order to save your life, we had to remove it. Thankfully, it was a success. We'll have to keep an eye on you for a few days. I'd prefer if you kept activity levels fairly low while your artery heals and your heart recovers."

Yaron could barely process all this. Dr. Mundell spoke about it like it was normal. Like it was no big deal. Like causing harm to heal wasn't akin to the witchcraft of a thousand revolutions past. Had she not felt their blades simply because she was unconscious? Or was there more human insanity that she wasn't privy to? How, after opening their eyes to a universe of technology beyond their wildest imaginations, could the humans have known that their methods could still save lives?

All that came out of her mouth was a hoarse "Okay."

Despite medicine reaching its near pinnacle form, humanity still prefers to practice surgery. It is seen as barbaric, invasive even by other alien civilizations. One day, an alien diplomat collapses on human soil and wakes up in a bed with small stitches on their body.

[elstattoo]

MEN DNI, MINORS DNI

“𝑺𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝑰𝒕 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅”

WC: 780

Content: 18+, dom! ellie, sub/switch! reader, face fucking, strap usage, masturbation, degradation, use of the word slut

Author’s Note: Another drabble…. Ellie Williams I want you. So bad.

“Yeah, use that pretty mouth of yours,” Ellie groaned, hand tightly fisting your hair. Her grip never loosened on the strands, if anything it got tighter.

You stared at her from in between her legs, cheeks pink from the obscenity of the situation, your tongue lolling out to smother the plastic dildo in your saliva. Ellie watched as you did this, her stomach rippling with desire, her pussy tightening around the strapless strap-on buried within her, doing very little to prevent the wetness spilling out, messily down her legs.

The wetness was from not only your spit, but the precum leaking from her hole. You bit back every desire to just suck her puffy, glistening clit hidden behind the strap. You preferred her pussy over this any day, but Ellie practically had been begging you to do this for months… And you finally gave in.

Since she wanted to see this so bad, you’d give her a show. One hell of a show. You opened your mouth, taking little by little into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. Your eyes never left Ellie’s, she bit her bottom lip almost enough to draw blood. Her fingers tightened slightly in your hair, you moaned around the silicone.

The vibrations sent a chill up Ellie’s spine, she squinted her eyes shut. Both her hands falling from your hair to your cheeks, you paused upon the contact, lips still wrapped around the toy. Your own hand was gripping one of her legs for stability, the other shoved down into your panties playing with yourself.

Ellie felt herself dampen even more at that, she sighed contently before speaking. “Can I fuck this mouth, baby? What do you think?”

You hummed in agreement, mouth still stuffed, your knees pressing into the pillow previously placed — for this exact reason. Ellie shook her head, pulling your lips off it for a second. “No, I need words. Gotta hear you say it for me, ‘kay?”

Your lips were wet from your own spit, you sat there momentarily thinking over the idea, which spiked something within you. “Yes, I want you to fuck my mouth. Do whatever you want, Ellie. Use me.”

Ellie felt your hand tighten on her leg, nails digging into the flesh, enough to leave indents. She hissed, the pain easing quickly into her already built up desire for you. “You’re so good for me, baby. Always put that mouth to good use, huh?”

You licked your lips, then opened your mouth for the toy — signaling to her you were ready. Ellie quickly moved your head closer to the strap, your lips enveloped what length you could, before Ellie pulled it back out and roughly back in.

As she continued to fuck your mouth, gagging sounds could be heard from you, muffled over the strap. You continued playing with yourself, fingers quickly rubbing against your clit, desperate for friction.

Your jaw ached, but nonetheless you felt soaked from how hot it felt to be used like this — like a toy. Ellie gripped your cheeks tighter, moving her hips to fuck your mouth. She internally was rejoicing, finally fulfilling her fantasy, finding it way better than her imagination. The gagging sounds she pulled from your lips was music to her ears, and so were your muffled moans at the hilt of her strap.

The same strap that was pushed into her from the other end, filling her weeping hole — begging to be filled by your fingers or tongue. Ellie wished she could feel your lips, body twitching at the very thought. But she couldn’t help but savor this, not knowing if you’d do this again anytime soon.

Ellie smirked, finding your noises pleasing. “Yeah, you fucking suck my dick so good… I love this fucking mouth of yours. Such a slut with how you’re still playing with yourself.”

Your fingers sped up hearing those words slip off her tongue, fingers never stilling their movement. You moaned against the strap, loving how it felt and how her words made you feel. Your pussy gushed, your own wet pussy growing wetter.

Spit was gathered down your chin, even somehow on your cheeks. Ellie rocked the strap in and out of your mouth a few more times, then pulled it fully off your lips with a pop. She looked down at you on your knees, face messy with saliva, and chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Breathing through your nose only did so much, and Ellie just ate up the sight of you.

Her right hand softly reached to cup your cheek, thumb running along the surface of your skin. “God, you look good like this.”

[sirxlla]

Hey! Can you make a hc of the batboys with their S/O getting wasted and claiming they have a boyfriend when they are their boyfriend. Thanks

You're Drunk & Telling Them You Have a Boyfriend

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

Dick: "Uh, Uh. Get your slimy hands off me, Miiissster...I know karracheee." You slurred your words as he held you up in his arms to get you to the limo, maybe drinking so much at the gala was a bad idea. You made what your drunk self believes is karate hands at him.

"Wow, Karache? Really?" He laughs as he slowly lowers you into the limo onto the long seat.

"You'll seee...you'lll seeee I promise." You slurred as you rolled over face down into the long leather seat.

"Oh no, I'm sure I will, Pumpkin."

"Who you callin' pump-e-kin? Thats- I- Onllyyyy my boyfren allowed to call me that." You said a bit aggressively; it was like a baby bunny trying to take on a lion: attack = a hundred, damage = zero. You quickly fell asleep. The booze got to you, and when you got home, he had to remove you from the seat, your face red where the leather stuck to your face. He unzipped and pulled your dress off and your shoes and let you go to bed before kissing your head.

"G'Night, Pump-E-Kin." He teased you even though you couldn't hear it. "Pump-E-Kin." He whispered to himself with a huge grin before heading to the shower.

Jason: "Ohhhhhh, slow your roll, Muchachos. I got a boyfriend." You said as you waved your finger in Jason's face when his fingers even grazed your hips.

"Oh, yeah, who's this boyfriend? Tell me about him." He so badly wanted to know what drunk you would say about him considering he's never seen you drunk before.

"He kicks names, takes asses." You giggle, not even noticing or thinking for a millisecond that you said that phrase wrong.

"He takes asses? Is that what happened to yours?" Jason was always quick with it and it was even more fun with the idea that you were drunk.

"Hey, that's not nice. I'm gonna tell my boyfriend." You huffed like a cute angry kitten.

"Oh, yes. Please do tell your boyfriend. I'd love to know this boyfriend." He was making the most out of this moment; he'd cherish this forever and tease you just as long.

"Jay-son" You sounded it out as you went to call Jason, slowly scrolling through your phone. "Jay-son" You kept scrolling.

"You got a picture of this Jason?"

"I got millions." You pulled up a picture and showed him.

"Hmmm, this guy is pretty handsome. He looks familiar? I don't know where..." He watched as you zoned out while looking at the picture.

"I just love him so much." You turned into a puddle of tears within a few seconds. "He's everything to me."

"Awww, Babygirl. It's okay." He said as he hugged you and rubbed your back as you sobbed over the man you were right next to.

Bruce: "Y/N, that's more than plenty. No more drinks for the night." He tried to get the drink from you and could if he really needed to.

"You can't tell me what to do, you're not my boyfriend." You down another shot, and before it, you're trying to dance on the bar.

"I- Im, Yes, I am." He looked so confused at your words and how you were claiming not to be his girlfriend.

"My boyfriend's Batman. You know?" You made yourself look like you had pointed little devil ears. "Like Na Na NaNa Na Ba Batman!" You giggled completely out of it before nearly slipping on the bar

Of course, Bruce caught you before you fell too far. You started laughing so hard from being so intoxicated. He carried you out of the bar while paparazzi took pictures of you. If the alcohol in your system didn't have you disoriented, then the flashes from the cameras sure did. They gave you a horrible migraine which slowly pulled you out of your drunken state and back to a sober one.

"Mmmmm...my head feels awful." You grumble as Bruce helps you inside the manor.

"I'm sure it does, you had a lot to drink. We should get you out of those heels and into bed."

"What even is the difference between and manor and a mansion." You asked as he kneeled down to take your heels off.

"Well, A manor is a large estate with a historic significance and is a primary residence. A mansion is a large house that is over 7,000 square feet." He explains as he sets your heels down in his large walk-in closet.

You look at him with a face of complete confusion. Bruce laughs and smiles as he heads back over to you, taking your dress off.

"If you're still interested in the morning I'll explain it all to you." He took his mother's pearls off your neck before laying you down. Bruce put you under the covers and tucked you in like a little kid.

"Good Night, Beautiful." He kisses your forehead and heads down to the Batcave to work on a case he's been trying to break.

Tim: "Don't touch what you can't buy, Bub!" You said as Tim politely tried to guide you away from the party with a hand on your lower back.

"What are you even talking about?" He laughed as he slowly herded you like a cat towards the kitchen on a higher level so you could sober up somewhere quiet.

"Do you think Taco Bell called themselves that because it sounds like Del Taco? Is that like who came first the chicken or the egg? Mmmm, my boyfriend would know..." You grab your phone to call your boyfriend, which makes Tim give you a look of almost humorous astonishment. He laughs as he picks up the phone.

"Yes, Baby? What can I do for you today, Sweetheart." He asked as he stared at you, trying not to laugh.

"I'm with this guy, and I asked him if Taco Bell came first or Del Taco, and he doesn't know...Do you know?"

"Taco Bell, I believe, Honey." You hang up your phone before looking back at Tim.

"My boyfriend said Taco Bell."

"Your boyfriend sounds really smart."

"Oh, he really is and he's so nice to me. He got like so so many squish mellows, and they're so soft." You start getting emotional, and he can see the tears in your eyes, and he realizes he needs to get you into bed quickly because the last thing he needs is to carry you through a lot of drunk party-goers.

Tim very slowly gets you back to your room and gets you laid down on the bed you two share. He grabs a squish mellow that he knows you love most and puts it in your arms.

"You know my boyfriend would really like you; you're so sweet and caring, just like he is. He wants to make sure everyone's safe and happy. He's like a cute lil guy and he's just so amazing."

His heart swells about five sizes, and he thinks it might burst. It's sweet how loyal you are when you're drunk but also how highly you think of him, it means the world to him. Just as he thought he couldn't love you more, Tim finds himself being sucked deeper and deeper into the hole that is his love for you.

Damian: "Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah. No. I have a boyfriend and he'll kick your ass." You said as you waved your finger in his face as you swayed from side to side.

"Yes, I know I am your boyfriend." He asks with a stern and annoyed look.

"Then what did I eat for breakfast and the color of my underwear?" You slurred with a smug voice.

"Cinnamon French Toast, and they're Burgundy; I know cause I made you breakfast, and I bought them."

"They're red." You giggle, which is bothering him even more; he's annoyed mainly because he needs to get you out of here. He's worried about the company around here, so therefore, he's worried about you.

"Burgundy is a color of red, Babe. Come on, we need to go. Come on, Beloved." He tries to help you up on the floor before you turn into dead weight in his arms.

"Well, isn't that just great?" He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder to get you out of the bar. Some creep acts like he might try Damian like a dumbass, he stops them in their tracks with just a single glare and his resting bitch face.

"Ha, Ha. Pussy." You laugh at the guy as Damian gets you out of the bar and twords his car.

"Hey. Hey, don't antagonize people. Lay down." He says as he puts you down in the back of the car. "Be good." He gets in the drivers seat and starts driving to the manor, he calms as he gets you both further and further away from that sketchy bar. He glances back at you every so often as he drives.

Once he parks the car he gets out and picks you up to get you inside. Between the front door and his bedroom theres a large pool of drool on his shirt from you. He smiles and lays you down before taking your heels off. Damian heads of to shower and change before climbing into the bed with you, gently moving hair away from your face that was stuck in your chapstick.

"Get some sleep, Beloved."

Send me prompts if youd like. ♡

Masterlists

[ppixienous]

BEETLEJUICE, joe burrow

pairings ➸ joe burrow x ex-fwb!black!reader

synopsis ➸ you were lured to the fire and got burned.

warnings ➸ angst, that's it.

word count ➸ 822

a/n ➸ was in the process of writing another fic when this idea popped up in my head. everybody say thank you laufey and mariah the scientist ayeeeeee! (not proofread !)

tags ➸ none! but lmk if you would liked to be tagged in the future! <3

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. it was impossible. there was no way he could be this stupid; there was no way you could be this stupid. “this is yvonne, my girlfriend,” you didn’t even have to look at joe to hear the smile through his words. his girlfriend…

everyone seemed to welcome her with open arms, including some of the ones you viewed as close friends. looking at the happy couple, her smile was just as big as joe’s, if not bigger. the screeching of voices was making your head spin and heart pound. a loud scrape against the floor echoed as you looked over to your best friend to excuse yourself from dinner.

step after step, it felt like you couldn’t get further away from the party. finally making it outside, the cold air wrapped around your body, like an odd source of comfort. or perhaps it was a punishment for your relationship with joe. the past few weeks, you knew he was acting more distant than normal, but those sweet words and blue eyes had you hooked. you tried to focus on the cold air, but the bitterness and pain in your heart was too strong to place your focus elsewhere. a figure cleared his throat behind you, trying to make his presence known without scaring you.

joe…

walking closer to you, he draped his large jacket around your smaller frame. you cling to the sleeves of his jacket and put more space between the two of you, afraid that if you let go you would fall back into old temptation. the busy street felt so quiet around you, as if it was just you and joe outside. “y/n…”, a faint cloud of frosty air escaped his lips as he spoke, “come back inside. you’re shaking.”

you couldn’t help but to scoff. this is the same man that knew how to touch you the way he did, place his hands where they didn’t belong, made you feel beautiful like no other man has. the same man that professed his love to you as your bodies connected as one. that same man that did all those things, but wanted you around him and his girlfriend for the rest of this godforsaken night. “yeah, no thanks. i ordered an uber.”

“which could take up to 20 minutes to arrive. don’t be stubborn, y/n. come back inside, enjoy the night, then you can leave.” this got to be the dumbest nigga on the planet.

“don’t be stubborn,” you scoffed, “you want me to “enjoy” my night with your lil girlfriend? you want me to smile in her face? give her a big hug while we’re at it. want me to be her friend as if her man wasn’t just fucking me the other night while saying that he loves me?! is that what you want me to do joe, huh?!”

it could’ve been from the cold or your outburst, but you noticed joe’s face turning into a red hue as he looked around at nosey onlookers. “would you just lower your voice so we can talk about this inside, y/n/n? it’s freezing and i don’t want you to get sick.”

listening to his words and watching his indifferent demeanor, you couldn’t help but to be filled with more rage, bordering hatred. happily snatching his jacket off of your body, you aimed his jacket for his face but he caught it before it connected. goddamn, quarterback.. tears started pooling your eyes, slowly running down your face, “nigga, fuck you! you lied to my face, time and time again. nothing about this shit was love, this was just lust to you. you never cared for me, the way you were supposed to joe.”

“what the hell are you talking about? i never cared for you?”, his face turned up.

“exactly what i said! you never cared for me! this is not showing you care for me. there is no reason, no sane explanation for you telling me that you love me then popping out with some girl the next damn week! do you know h-how devastating that feels?” your heart was pounding rapidly like a drum. you did your best to calm it down, but this situation was too much for you. “i truly hope for yvonne’s sake, you treat her much better than you did me.”

beats of silence surrounded the two of you as joe studied you. dried tears painting your swollen face with bloodshot eyes. in some twisted fantasy, he knew that he could have the best of both worlds. but he made his bed, now hump in it. the sound of a car coming to a stop got your attention. “uber for y/n?”

you nodded to the uber driver, signaling that you would be in there momentarily. taking one more last look at him, you let out a deep sigh and a weak smile, “have a good life, joseph.”

[littelovelunette]

Hi!! I just read someone’s short little blurb and I’ve been obsessssed

can I request a best friend!sevika x reader and like everyone (including reader’s friends) thinks they’re dating because they’re soooo close to eachother

More Than Just Friends

You and your best friend Sevika were at a restaurant for your birthday. It was Sevika's treat. Of course, it was.

Your other friends were here too, it was pretty much a huge friend group.

She was that one shady senior student of the class, it was funny— nobody could really look her in the eye and say shit, but then there you and her were. Sevika was scrutinising the menu with the most judgemental face ever.

"Does she look like a college student to you?" Your friend, Priscilla, asked you.

"I'd think she were a professor if I didn't already know her since highschool." You laughed, fingers tracing the edge of the menu.

Sevika scoffed a little at that but chuckled eitherway as she looked up from the menu, "What do y'all want?"

"Steak."

"Yeah, steak sounds good."

"And to drink?"

"Whiskey!"

"Well, since it's your birthday, we should get dessert, too!" Priscilla said happily, clapping her hands together.

Instantly, a few in the group chimed in but you? You were looking for the price of steak on the menu.

Your eyes widened.

Goodness. It was expensive.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you crunched the numbers. With the steak and whiskey they were ordering...

That would be about over eight-hundred dollars. OVER eight-hundred dollars.

Not to mention, they were also discussing dessert which would be an additional charge.

"Sevika, the pri—" Sevika slapped her card down making you sigh a little. She was as reckless as ever.

"It's your birthday." Sevika said as if that was enough reason for her to pay for everyone.

The waiter came and took the finalised orders before leaving with a polite smile.

"Someone has money to burn." One of the girls spoke up with a giggle.

"She might as well be your sugar mommy now." Priscilla teased and laughed along, nudging you with her elbow.

You flushed a little, "Oh, shut it." You said and crossed your hands on your lap.

Sevika, however, didn't deny anything or react, a slow smirk spreading over her dark lips. Oh, those dark lips... Accentuated by the dimmed light of the restaurant.

It was almost a romantic setting, had there not been Priscilla and your other friends chattering loudly in the background.

You continued staring at Sevika, lost in the world of your dreams as you made out the little tooth gap she had, it was so cute. You wondered what it would be like, tracing it with your tongue, kissing those asymmetrical lips slowly in the candlelight.

Just then, Priscilla's hand on your shoulder made you break out of your trance. "You're staring." Sevika's voice rumbled, soft and deep.

"Sorry, I just zoned out." You said but Sevika saw right through you. She knew exactly what you were thinking. Because she was thinking the exact same thing.

Priscilla laughed watching the awkwardness between the both of you now, saying, "I'd think you both were dating already."

That made Sevika's ears turn slightly red but she played it cool, "Oh, yeah? Why is that?"

"Y'know, you were there for her when she had her first lesbian breakup and you know those suck ass." Priscilla said matter-of-factly, wrapping an arm around you in a friendly gesture. "And you were also there for her all throughout highschool, helped her in chemistry and you both are roomies, too!" Priscilla then looked at you. "You always carry a lighter though you don't spoke. You carry it because Sevika can't give up smoking if her life depended on it—"

Sevika snorted. "That's not true—"

"—Shut up." Priscilla continued. "And you both have ditched prom together and got the same classes even in college. Let's be real, you both would've have significant others if it weren't the fact you both like each other like that."

Another girl, Sara, also joined in the teasing and reasoning. "That's true. We all know Sevika was changing the girls she dated more than the bedsheets she slept with them on."

Sevika flushed, "Hey!—"

"Shut up." Priscilla and Sara said in unison before looking at each other and giggling.

"Okay, okay, girls, what's your point?" You asked as the food arrived. The waiter, sensing the anticipation, quickly served the table and left with a polite "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Our point is," Priscilla sighed. "Date Sevika already."

"Better yet, marry her." Sara said making the both of you (Sevika and you) sputter.

"You're dead meat." Sevika said, cheeks tinged red. You giggled a little and looked at Sevika. "Sev, maybe they do got a point."

"You think so? Or do you simply want to give your chances with me a shot?" Sevika winked making you pretend-gag.

"No, I'm serious." You said after a while of laughing. Sevika didn't say anything for a bit, taking her time to think it through before the rest of your friend group began slowly picking up their cutlery and eating.

After everyone finished eating, they slowly started getting up and saying their goodbyes until it was just you and Sevika left.

"So?" Sevika got up slowly, letting a hand out to help you up.

"So what?" You grabbed her hand and gave her a brief smile of appreciation.

"What's on your mind, pretty?" Sevika grabbed you by the waist and held you close to her own self, guiding you out of the restaurant.

"Just thinking of what Priscilla and Sara said." You said as your heels clicked through the concrete, you both walking in the breezy night.

"You seriously wanna marry me?" Sevika joked making you roll your eyes.

"Look at the bigger picture, Sev!" You squeezed her hand a little. "We would be great together. We've known each other for so long and should've given a shot at 'us' sooner!"

Sevika ruffled your hair, "Just say it, you want me to kiss you."

"This is the point when I deny everything I just said and stutter." You stopped walking as did Sevika.

The next actions didn't even feel voluntary as Sevika's hand slowly traced into your hair, lips inches apart until they weren't.

Her lips on yours felt like heaven. Your lips cold against her warm breath. As you kissed her, Sevika's tongue swiped against your bottom lip lovingly.

Your eyes slowly closed as Sevika's lips roamed over yours. As the two of you parted slowly, you could see the love in her eyes.

And you knew, this was the correct path.

[archangeldyke-all]

hello sweet girl!! how was your day? 🫶🏽

i hope you know that you’re so deeply loved and appreciated by us all!! <33

how would you feel about writing more highschool sevika and reader!! i absolutely love them! maybe the two of them get roped into babysitting the neighbors kid or something and at first sevika is pissed because she doesn’t wanna spend her friday night changing diapers when she could be making out and causing mischief with her gf hehe!

But as the night goes on, she actually has so much fun and realizes how much she loves kids! And watching reader be so good with kids makes Sevika realize that this is exactly what she wants in the future. To be moms and raise kids with reader together. To have a family together! A sweet and sappy moment when Sevika falls in love even deeper with reader 🥹

oh my god i LOVE THIS AHHHHHHHHH

men and minors dni

"remind me again why we're doing this?" sevika whines.

"because we're broke and we need money for weed." you huff. this is the sixth time she's asked since you started your walk over.

your neighbor caught you and sevika goofing off in the front yard the other day, and she practically begged you for help watching her kids so she could go on a date. when she mentioned what she was willing to pay for just eight hours of work, you elbowed sevika to keep her from saying no, and happily accepted.

which is how you're here. "c'mon, sev, it could be fun."

"i don't see what could possibly be fun about changing diapers our entire saturday night."

"there's only one baby. the other two are three and six. we'll get to play with 'em!"

"play what? i don't think they know how to play poker, babe."

you snort and kiss sevika's cheek. "sevika. their bedtime is eight. their mom won't be home 'til midnight. it's four hours of dealing with the kids, then we can make out on the couch for the rest of the night. she's even leavin' us money for pizza."

sevika huffs and grumbles the rest of the walk. she's quiet as ms. haili leaves you instructions. and she's weirdly standoff-ish with the kids for the first thirty or so minutes.

you're all in the living room, the kids coloring and sevika glaring at them, when a horrible smell fills the room.

"uh-oh baby. looks like you made a poopy." you giggle as you scoop up the baby from it's play pen. "i'll change 'im. be right back."

"don't leave me!" sevika calls. you snort.

"you'll live."

when you come back to the living room, you're shocked to find sevika laying on her belly, coloring along with the two oldest kids.

"what's your favorite color, sevi?" the six year old asks. sevika shrugs.

"purple's cool. what about you?"

"i like purple too! and red. and also green."

"nice."

you lean against the wall and watch the scene, not wanting to embarrass your girlfriend.

"what about you, pipsqueak? what's your favorite color?" sevika asks, nudging the three year old.

"mmm... blue!" the boy declares. sevika nods.

"blue's pretty."

"like the sky!" he says, nodding with excitement. sevika giggles.

"yeah, like the--" she cuts herself off when she catches sight of you, a blush creeping up her cheeks. you grin at her.

throughout the night, sevika grows more and more comfortable with the kids.

during your game of tag, sevika lets the kids cling onto her as she runs around the yard.

during dinner, sevika takes great care of making sure the baby eats all her food, wiping her chin after each messy bite she takes.

at bathtime, sevika lets the kids pile bubbles up on her head, laughing along with them as they make various hairdos and hats for her out of bubbles.

by the time the kids are asleep, sevika's grinning like she's high.

"you want sausage on your half?" you ask as you look down at the pizza menu. sevika's curled up on the couch beside you. she doesn't respond. "sev?" you ask, looking up at her.

sevika blinks at you dreamily. "do you want kids?" she asks.

you choke on your own spit. "what!?" you scream. "we're still in high school!"

sevika giggles. "not now, dumbass. just... someday... would you ever want to have kids with me?" she asks.

you blink at your girlfriend, a small smile on your lips.

you've never really considered kids before --fuck you're still a kid-- but there's one thing that you've known for years now: you're gonna spend the rest of your life with sevika.

"with you, sure." you say. "how many do you want?"

sevika grins and tackles you to the couch. you burst into giggles. "like four? five?" she asks. you snort.

"and who's delivering all these babies!?"

sevika shrugs. "you. or me. or we'll just adopt, y'know?"

something warm inside you flutters, and you blink dreamily up at your best friend. "you're a sap." you whisper. sevika giggles.

"'s your fault. you're cute with a kiddo on your hip."

you pull her down for a kiss, humming against her lips. "we got a long way to go before we have any rugrats, y'know."

"i know. gotta marry you first." sevika says with a smile. you snort.

"i was thinking more like graduating high school and finding a place to live, but sure, you gotta marry me first too." you giggle.

"whatever. i know it'll be a while. but... it's exciting, isn't it?" she whispers. you smile.

"exciting?"

"to have something so nice to look forward to." she explains.

your heart melts and you pull sevika in for one more kiss. "so exciting. so... you gonna join me next weekend to watch mr. tannis' kids?" you ask.

sevika grins. "i guess so."

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[sunafc]

Alliance – 11, i would

masterlist

Kenma is waiting by his car, watching as Y/n makes her way to him. She skips here and there, between her steps, and when she gets in front of him, Kenma notices the faint blush on her cheeks and the glossed haze over her eyes. She has a smile plastered on her face and Kenma thinks she has probably never been — and never will be — this happy to see him. He teases her, telling her he’s impressed she can still walk straight. She replies by poking out her tongue and insisting that she’s not that drunk, just a bit tipsy.

In the car Y/n rolls the window all the way down, she turns her head to it and keeps her eyes closed as the cold air hits her face. Kenma steals a glance or two at the girl’s figure, ‘Close the window,’ he says.

Y/n turns to him and rolls her eyes, ‘I hate you,’ she sighs loudly and still leaves the window down.

‘You’ll get a cold with the way you’re dressed,’ Kenma’s gaze lingers on the girl’s outfit before returning to the road in front.

Y/n sighs again, dramatically, before following Kenma’s instructions and closing the window.

The car ride goes quite smoothly, the seemingly precarious state of peace only interrupted by a brief bickering about the radio volume, that ends up with music blasted through the car because Y/n had declared that since she had closed the window like Kenma wanted, then now they had to listen to music how she wanted — to which Kenma had replied that was only a suggestion and she could’ve gotten sick as far as he was concerned.

When they get to their apartment building Kenma is careful to walk behind Y/n as they go up the stairs to their floor, making sure she doesn’t trip.

‘You know...’ Y/n says as Kenma turns the key in the keyhole to open the door, ‘I don’t actually hate you,’ she states getting inside the apartment, ‘You just piss me off so fucking bad,’ she drops herself on the couch with her arms spread wide open.

‘Yeah?’ Kenma closes the door behind him, ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Not sure,’ Y/n sits up, ‘Probably just the alcohol in me, but I think we could be somewhat friends if you weren’t so annoying,’ she suggests.

‘Ah,’ Kenma chuckles, ‘So that’s on me?’

‘Of course!’ She says matter of factly, ‘I am a joy to be around.’

‘Of course,’ he repeats, voice laced with sarcasm, as he goes to sit next to her.

There are a few moments of silence as Y/n fidgets around trying to find a comfortable position on the couch before talking again, ‘I wonder what Shoyo’s up to right now,’ she mumbles.

‘About him...’ Kenma sighs, ‘If he knew about what I was planning,’ — Y/n hums, prompting him to go on — ‘I doubt he would easily accept that side of me,’ he lowers his gaze to the floor, only wanting to get his thoughts out and not expecting any answer but, to his surprise, Y/n is quick to reply.

‘I would,’ she says confidently then she laughs at Kenma’s reaction. The boy’s eyes widened as his head snaps towards Y/n, staring open-mouthed.

‘Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,’ she jokes.

With that it seemed like he got back to earth, ‘You’re drunk,’ Kenma suggests, ‘And you should probably get some sleep, too.’

The girl disregards that, ‘I did, in a way, though, didn’t I? I even went along with your antics.’

Kenma has no words, the girl is right — though he won’t admit that — but, in a way, he still has troubles believing her. The weird sensation in his chest, that he had felt days earlier, found its way back, confusing him further.

notes:

— i'm not sure how i feel abt this chapter tbh but i hope u guys like it anyway 🙏

taglist: @solaqes @oneiratxxia10 @reocidal @sonicsolos @scinclaitnoir @sp1ng @yuminako @dazqa @simply-a-simps2 @veecynii @honeyfewr @flowernoor @azharyy @hanadulsetaad @cupidsblonde @sticknpokes @lilifl0wer @phoenix-eclipses @dudeimnotgonnakms @3lectraheart @kodzuken-hoe @obamakinnie @iluv-ace @meekydeeks @chuuyalvover @m3llypl1n1us @sixtiesweetheart @ch4rstxr @rowensboat @happycatanxie @mrowwww @classicalelephant @4rmins @dog-with-a-blogs-blog @cherrii-11 @getvaccinated @needtoloveoutloud @itsdragonius @jadebat7 @soupnamiii @arwawawa2 @sillykoalawasteland @imtheproblems

if u want to be added to the taglist let me know with an ask or a comment <3

[freyito]

hello hello!!! may i order an idia flavored curry rice plz?? blinks cutely) ty!!

✭ pairing(s): idia shroud x gn reader

★ in which: idia is WAY too confident that he can out miku you.

✩ curry rice black forest cake w/ idia shroud!

✦ entry for my 1k follower event, Freyito's Maid Cafe! check out the link to figure out how to send an order!!

✧ a/n: ykw anon. im so glad you changed your mind because this gave me SUCH a banger idea that i couldnt go to sleep cause i was writing it out in my head. teehee :)

🗒 cw: gn reader, ffxiv sneak, just embarrassed idia :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.7k

ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴇᴠɪʟ | ꜰʀᴇʏɪᴛᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀꜰᴇ !

It was late at night, and you had been on call with Idia. He was grinding out materials for some new transmog that had dropped in his game, and cursing the drop rates. You, on the other hand, were grinding out Project Diva Mega Mix for no particular reason. You had just made up your mind that you wanted to full combo some extra songs, and now you were hellbent on doing so. Plus, it provided some nice background music for Idia and his grind sesh.

By now, you had two songs finished and full cleared (albeit, with 97% accuracy), and you were working on your third, Sweet Devil. You already had four failed runs, your hands were starting to cramp a bit, and Idia’s smart remarks weren’t helping you. Not to mention, you always found the mvs distracting. Too much happening in the background while you were trying to focus on the notes.

You slump back in your chair with a huff as you watch the small word ‘safe’ pop up and interrupt your combo. You watch for just a moment as the symbols fly past on the screen, a barrage of ‘miss’es following shortly after. You finally exit the mv, balling your hands into a fist and then stretching out your fingers.

“I thought you were, like, a god at rhythm games,” Idia chides. You can hear the smile through his mic.

“Well sometimes it takes a couple tries,” You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure it does,” He chuckles. When you look at his stream, he’s finished up running maps and his character is now toiling away by the marketboard. “I bet I could do it.”

You raise your eyebrow, though he can’t see it. “Hm, what’s the stakes?”

“We need stakes?”

“You’re insulting my integrity as a rhythm game player. I want there to be a deal.”

A silence follows your voice, but you can hear him shift back in his chair. “Okay. What do you want to bet, then?”

Hm. You yourself don’t know exactly what you want if you win. Maybe you could get some gil off of him in game, but that didn’t feel like enough. You look around your room, before spotting something rather intriguing. It was a forgotten purchase, a pastel pink maid dress. It was rather cheap material, but still served its function. You were sure if you looked for them, you’d find the rest of the pieces…

“Loser wears a maid dress,” You declare triumphantly. “I got one in my closet.”

“... I, uh, don’t wanna ask why you have that,” He mumbles, “But I guess I accept. It’d be pretty nice to see you in a maid dress, heh…”

“Don’t act like you’ve already won. You haven’t even opened the game yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just lemme put this up on the marketboard and I’ll get on the game…”

You lean back, content to wait and give your hands a bit of a break. You can’t help but smirk at not only making Idia eat his words, but seeing him in a maid dress would make you… quite happy, to say the least. The light pink would pair well with his hair and– you have to stop yourself there. You’d rather not distract yourself any further, nor allow yourself to get cocky. You can’t get ahead of yourself, or else you risk losing perhaps the most precious award you could ever have. 

“Okay. I’m on. Which song was it again?” Idia finally speaks up. When you look back at his stream, he’s ended it.

“Sweet Devil– Hey, you should stream your screen,” You point out, tabbing back into your game.

“I’m getting to itttt,” He drags the last letter, like it was too much work, as if he had not streamed his games every time you two called.

You watch as the ‘stream has ended’ switches to his screen, scrolling through the songs before landing on sweet devil. He changes difficulties to extreme, then waits for a moment, like he’s expecting you to say something. You decide to mess with him a little bit, staying silent a little longer.

“I’m waiting,” He groans, and you can almost hear his eyes roll. “I know you’re watching. I heard the little viewer noise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Idia doesn’t even grace you with a ‘go’, or anything of the sort, simply starting the song, following your words. You scramble to tab back into the game, quickly selecting the song. 

The song and mv start up, and soon after the notes come in. You do your best to focus, to try and block out the MV, the bright pink lights of Miku’s room and Miku herself made it hard to follow the notes, especially with how fast they were. Still, you find your rhythm relatively easily, considering you knew the song and charting by heart. Normally, you’d be super conscious about the progress bar beneath the screen, checking to make sure you were well above the ‘excellent’, marker. However, you were too determined to focus. And unfortunately, that would be too much of a distraction. You don't even focus on if your hits are 'good' or 'excellent'.

The hold notes scare you the most, considering you always end up slipping up on them, somehow. Either that, or you don’t hold them for long enough and panic when you can just press the other buttons on your keyboard. You tell yourself, over and over again, in your mind, that you can just use the other set of keys. You have to. You can’t risk allowing Idia to have any sort of edge on you.

Three minutes feels like five, or even ten. Idia has been far too quiet during this, not even muttering something under his breath. You feel grateful for a moment, if you heard anything on his side, you’d probably mess up. Maybe you could mess him up. Yes. No. Ugh, if you did, you’d probably mess yourself up, too. And if you had messed him up, he’d complain and call for a redo. You would rather never play this song again, to be honest.

Just as your fingers start to tingle– a result of adrenaline, for some reason–, the word ‘success’ comes up. Behind the notes, Miku turns her little devil tail into a spear and throws it as a planet. You do your best not to celebrate too early, still having to go through with the last couple seconds of the song. You were just happy to have nailed the challenge time, more than happy. 

After the last couple of notes, you’re able to lean back and relax. For a moment. When the ‘clear’ screen comes up, you feel your heart jump at the percentage. 101.53%. You look over at Idia’s stream and can’t help but laugh. 99.07%.

“No,” He utters weakly, with an agony in his voice you have never heard before. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Yes,” You feel maniacal, an odd elation spreading through your chest. You don’t even exit the game, hopping out of your chair. “You stay right there.”

You pull the dress from your closet, listening to Idia frantically call for Ortho from your headphones. The rest of what he says is unintelligible, given the distance between you and your headphones as you rummage through drawers to find the rest of the costume. You find the cuffs, stockings, and even a headband with cat ears. It’s a little bent, but you’d fix it on the way.

Hurriedly, you stuffed the costume into a bag, grabbing your phone and turning on the flashlight. Slinging the bag over your shoulder and rushing out of your house. You keep your flashlight pointed at the ground so you don’t trip, running as fast as you can to the Hall of Mirrors. Like it is a high-stakes situation, time is precious. If you can’t make it to Ignihyde’s dorms soon, then you will never see Idia in a maid dress, even if you won the bet.

The minute you reach the Hall of Mirrors, you practically throw yourself through Ignihyde’s mirrors, scrambling through the halls with harsh breaths. Your heavy footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way up the steps and to Idia’s room, clutching the strap of your bag. Ortho is there, in front of Idia’s door, opening it just a crack.

Seeing you, the boy lights up, smiling at you from underneath his mask. “Oh, hey, Idia. They’re here!”

“Nooo!” Idia squeals, and you can what him scrambling from his chair to close the door.

You shove your foot into the crack of the door just as Idia tries to open it. He uses more force than he means to, squeeze your foot slightly. You don’t emote, despite how much it hurts. Which scares Idia. But you don’t care. You won the bet. And he needs to pay up. Ortho stares blankly, trying to figure out what has Idia acting this way, before scolding his brother.

“That’s mean! You shouldn’t try to shut your partner out, especially like that!” 

Idia shrinks back a little. It’s clear that Ortho doesn’t know what has you on such a warpath, and you are quite happy with that. Finally, you smile a little, opening the door with your other hand. 

“Ortho…” Idia murmurs, turning his gaze away from you and his brother. “We’re gonna, uhm, game all night. Just us two. So, uh, you should get some sleep.”

He sounds utterly defeated, and Ortho remains none the wiser as to what you were about to subject poor Idia too.

“Huh? But you called me here?” Ortho tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I didn’t mean it– er, It was a mistake,” 

“... Okay! I’ll leave you two be. Have fun!”

And with that, Ortho hovers away, happy to leave his brother in your hands. By then, Idia knows he’s lost. You take a step in, handing him the bag with the dress and accessories in it. You don’t even speak to him, feeling a bit too giddy about your win, and prize.

“Uhm… can you at least stay out there, while I get changed?” His voice is shy, understandably so. 

“If you lock yourself in there, I’ll get Ortho to break it down,” You place your hands on your hips, in an attempt to seem confident.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

He’s right, you were well aware that your threat was kind of empty. But there’s no way you were going to let him get away.

“Then I’ll get those Heartslabyul first years to kick the door down.”

He lets out a small ‘eep’ at this, frowning. “Okay, okay, I won’t lock the door. Fine. You win.”

He doesn’t allow you any time to reply, taking the back and closing the door all too quickly. You can hear him shuffling about and the clothes rustling, and you feel your stomach flip-flop with nerves. You fidget with your hands and turn your back to the door, pretending like you actually didn’t care all that much so that Idia could get dressed faster, like that would work. You cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your biceps while you wait.

After a while, you hear the door crack behind you, and you turn around way too excitedly. He barely peeks through, giving you a look akin to a pleading puppy. He didn’t open the door all the way, insistent that you had to slip in through the crack, in case any one else would look out and see him. He’d rather save himself the embarrassment.

Finally squeezing through the door, he shuts it quickly. You, on the other hand, are greeted with a sight. His entire face is red, the tips of his hair flickering a bright pink as he looks away in embarrassment. The dress is a little short for him, so he clutches to the hem of the skirt and pulls it down a little. The pink worked well with his hair and his skin, just like you thought. It’s cliche, one of the dresses that was copy pasted from all those maid animes and what not. But still, you think it fit well.

“This is so cheap,” Idia complains, tilting his head up. “Okay. I dressed up. Can you go now so I can get back in my pajamas?”

You realize he’s missing something. The cat ears.

“No. No, I’m not leaving until you put the cat ears on.” You state simply, looking around for where they are.

He grimaces, deflating even more. “Please no. I think I might die. Actually, I’m going to die. Right now.”

“I won the bet fair and square, it’s not my fault. Where are they, Idia.” You speak with such a stern voice, it almost scares him. He finally, hesitantly, points to his chair, his grimace deepening as he looks back at you. “Put. Them. On.”

He groans, turning around and grabbing the cat ears. He gives you one last look, begging you to just let him go. Maybe you’re being a little too sadistic, but c’mon, Idia in a maid dress. That’s it. You plan to make the most of it. Slowly, he lifts the headband over his head, then lowers it down. Now you have your own Idia cat maid in front of you. You can’t help but smile, absolutely jubilant to see this poor man wearing such a cute dress.

“Okay. Can you go now, please,” He pleads once more, bringing a hand up to his face.

“Can I at least take a picture?” You hold up your phone.

“N-no! Please, no. I’m already at my lowest point, don’t have to kick me while I’m down…”

“Okay, okay,” You decide to finally allow him some mercy, “I won’t. But… I don’t think this image is ever leaving my head any time soon.”

He sighs and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. But he doesn’t reply. Well, that won’t do. You decide to come up with a quick excuse to stay.

“Well, I ran all the way here, in the dark, it’d suck if you sent me back,” You try to play it cool, tilting your head a little and looking up through your lashes at him. This earns you a deeper blush.

“Stop it,” He huffs, turning his head. Met with his set up, he realizes you two are technically still on call. And he finds his way out. “Your pc is on, you know.”

“Huh.”

“It’s on. You’re still in call.” He points to his monitor.

Your blind blanks for a minute, before you panic a little. You would like to stay and see if you can get him to stay in the maid dress for a little longer, but at the same time, you’d rather not blow out the power supply of your pc. That thing is too damn expensive. And you love it too much.

“Okay. Bye.” You huff briskly, turning on your heels and waiting for the door open before running back down to the mirror that connected the Ignihyde dorms to the Hall of Mirrors.

Idia yelps as the door slides open fully, stepping back and pressing himself against the wall so no one would see. Like anyone else was up at this time. He listens to you rush down the hallway, before letting out a breath. Once the door is shut all the way, he’s quick to wriggle out of the dress, throwing the cat ears, cuffs, and stockings (which ended up ripping a bit) to the corner of his room.

Almost breaking the zipper, he yanks it down on the back of his dress and throws it alongside the scattered recipes, before staring intently at it. Why couldn’t you have just waited for him to undress and take it back? He didn’t want these god forsaken items here. In his room. That reminded him of you. That’s like the cheesiest romantic thing couples do! And in this fashion, perhaps even cringey! He wants to burn it, so bad. Or throw it out. But what if someone somehow finds it in the trash? And then they link it back to him? That’d be the worst scenario. The absolute worst.

He continues to stare at it for a minute, before reaching for his pajamas that were hanging off the back of his chair. Fine. He’ll leave the stupid costume alone for now. Perhaps it’d come in handy one day. Give you a taste of your own medicine… or something.

© freyito, 2025 | maid cafe event | maid cafe masterlist | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices , dividers by cafekitsune , headers by yours truly

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[wendichester]

hey, i love ur work! could u do a dean x reader where she’s a hunter and has her own sam, so to speak (just a big male hunting partner) and a vintage car and they’re like a parallel of eachother and it’s a meet cute or something??

⋆˚࿔ mirror, mirror,

summary. it's like your dean winchester from another universe. and he kinda likes it

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 499

notes. hope this fits what you had envisioned sweets! thanks for requesting 😙

Dean Winchester has seen a lot of things in his life.

Werewolves. Vengeful spirits. Demons that can snap bones with a thought.

But he’s never seen himself.

At least, not until tonight.

It’s a gas station off some backroad in Oklahoma, the kind with buzzing neon lights and a faded NO LOITERING sign no one cares about. Dean’s leaning against the Impala, waiting for Sam to finish grabbing snacks, when he hears it—

The unmistakable rumble of an old engine.

Not just any old engine.

A ‘76 Mercury Cougar, sleek and black, purring like a damn jungle cat.

And behind the wheel? You.

Dean straightens, interest instantly piqued. You barely glance at him as you pull up to the pump, like you haven’t just walked into his universe and knocked it sideways.

Then your passenger door swings open, and out steps—

Jesus Christ.

You have a Sam.

Well. Not Sam, but close enough—a guy built like a brick wall, towering and broad, giving off the same protective, brother energy Dean’s used to.

Dean watches as your Sam—a guy you call Hunter, because of course his name is fucking Hunter—grumbles about gas prices and disappears inside to pay.

And that leaves just you.

Dean doesn’t hesitate.

“You know, you could’ve just asked to borrow my life instead of copying it.”

You turn, finally—finally—giving him your full attention.

And shit.

Dean was already interested. Now he’s in trouble.

Because you’ve got this look—sharp, knowing, amused. Like you already figured him out before he even opened his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say smoothly, popping your gas cap. “I was here first.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, sure. You, your oversized sidekick, your muscle car—” He gestures vaguely. “Real original.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

Dean grins. “Of what? My reflection?”

You laugh, and it hits him harder than it should.

“You wish I was your reflection,” you tease, stepping closer. “But tell me, Winchester—”

Dean doesn’t even blink at the fact that you know his name. Of course you know his name. He knows yours, too.

“What do you drive?” you ask, tilting your head.

Dean gestures proudly. “’67 Impala.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Cute.”

Dean’s jaw drops. “Cute?”

You hum. “Yeah. My Mercury could take her any day.”

Dean places a hand over his heart, mock-wounded. “Sweetheart, that is blasphemy.”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

Dean raises a brow. “You saying you wanna race?”

“I’m saying you wanna race.” You tap his chest lightly, grinning. “And you hate that you’ll lose.”

Dean is—

Flustered.

Which is annoying, because he flirts for a living. But there’s something about you, the way you match him beat for beat, the way you look at him like you’re already a step ahead—

It’s a problem.

A problem he wants.

Hunter chooses that exact moment to step outside, raising a brow at the scene. “You making friends?”

You glance at Dean, smirking. “Something like that.”

Dean grins.

Yeah.

Something exactly like that.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

[angelluv16]

Rumor Has it

✩: Kaia Jenner, the youngest Kardashian-Jenner, is an up-and-coming actress. When F1 driver Charles Leclerc casually calls her his favorite actress, the internet goes crazy. What starts as rumors turns into a whirlwind of drama, chemistry, and public scrutiny.

Part 3

faceclaim: Cindy Kimberly, girls from Pinterest

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Jenner!reader

request: no!!

warnings: Hate, fluff, Angst, Language,

previous part | Main Masterlist | next part

-------------------------✩-------------------------

I tossed my phone onto the couch beside me, but the stupid grin on my face wouldn’t budge. Charles freaking Leclerc just slid into my DMs. Well… kind of. It was just a dumb conversation about swimming, but still.

“You’re smiling at your phone,” Kim pointed out, not even looking up from her laptop. “Which means one of two things—either you just secured a bag, or you’re texting a guy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I’m just really excited about my new pool floaties.”

Khloé snorted. “Yeah, because that’s totally what makes you smile like that.” She turned her head to look at me, raising an eyebrow. “So? Spill. Who is it?”

“It’s no one.” I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest, maybe a little too defensively.

Kylie smirked from across the room. “It’s someone.”

“It’s really not,” I tried again, avoiding their stares.

Kim finally looked up, narrowing her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Khloé gasped dramatically. “Wait—wait, wait, wait—this wouldn’t have anything to do with Charles Leclerc, would it?”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

Kylie’s eyes lit up like she just hit the jackpot. “Oh my God, it is!”

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “It’s not!” My voice came out muffled.

Khloé grabbed my phone off the couch before I could stop her. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I—”

“Khloé, I swear to God, give that back.” I reached for it, but she held it out of my grasp, laughing.

“Relax, I’m not actually gonna go through your DMs,” she said, tossing it back to me. “But the fact that you panicked says everything I need to know.”

I slumped back against the couch, huffing. “You guys are so annoying.”

Kim sipped her tea, looking far too smug. “So, when’s the wedding?”

I groaned again. “I hate all of you.”

Kylie grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure we get front-row seats.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by charlesleclerc, kendalljenner, francisca.cgomes, and 65,783,789 others

kaia.jenner: A week in my life, Waiting to finally get those lessons

view 14,114 comments

charlesleclerc: I already told you I'm free whenever

kaia.jenner: Alright Pretty boy I'll see you at my house for those lessons

username10: Damn Charles was faster then me wtf

username11: THE ONE DIRECTION SHIRT

username12: Who's ur favorite member??

kaia.jenner: I've been a zayn girl Since I was little.

francisca.cgomes: Gorgeous gorgeous

kaia.jenner: All you

kendalljenner: she's been Staring at her phone I think waiting for a text from you

username13: ahah Not kendall Outing her

username14: waiting to see "Charles leclerc was seen in LA" post from f1 gossip

username15: At this point, just show up at the track and demand them 💀

kaia.jenner: Not a bad idea 🤔🤔

username16: I just know Charles is sweating after seeing this

username17: She’s so desperate for attention, it’s embarrassing.

username18:Another rich nepo baby making everything a moment 🙄

username19: I fear you’ll be waiting longer than Ferrari waits to switch tire strategies 💀

username20: Kaia, if you don’t pull up to Monaco with floaties and DEMAND your lesson I will hunt you down.

username21: Just tell him Lando offered first and watch how fast he books a pool

lando: Yeah If you want I can teach you (pls don't run me over Charles)

charlesleclerc:😡😡😡

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

-------------------------✩-------------------------

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @Ale-522 @sarx164 @gottalovesae @meadhbhcavanagh @fulla02 @fanficfanatic77 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @golden-hoax @poolclaws @Hadidsworld @perfectmenarefictional @lottalove4evelyn @edgyficuselastica @nebarious @mbioooo0000 @fanny2811 @greantii @norstappenvibes @mary-op81

-------------------------✩-------------------------

[wlwsoccerfics]

JustRelax(LiaWältiXGorryReader)

A/N: hope you enjoy it.

Summary: you just left the hospital after giving birth to your son and Lia gets protective, wanting you to rest.

Lia had just picked you and Maxim up from the hosptial. You gave birth to him yesterday. Maxim was both Wallys and your first kid. He was just a day old but already your biggest joy. His full name was Maxim Elias Wälti-Gorry.

She carried him inside with the Baby carrier walking behind you to make sure you got inside safe and Sound as well.

"Babe. You don't have to watch my every move. I am fine!" You told her.

"you gave birth not even 24 hours ago! I am gonna keep an eye on you and make sure you relax . Whether you Like it or not!" She stated.

"i don't like it." You let her know.

"well too bad. You need rest. Off to the couch you go. Your sister is coming over soon with the Family and some of the girls as well! They want to meet our son. I will bring Maxim over to you on the couch in a few. Just gonna get him out of his little Jacket." She told you. You sighed softly but went to sit on the couch after taking your shoes off.

"you know i would have helped." She told you as she handed Maxim over to you.

"i know Babe! But i can take my shoes off on my own!" You stated. You were still sore but didn't want to be treated like you were sick.

"i know you can, i know how tough you are! I saw you giving birth Yesterday and you were a freaking Rockstar!" Lia told you. You blushed a bit.

"thank you for saying that! I couldn't have done it without you by my side though!" You let her know.

"Babe i know you could have done it without me! Which is why i want you to relax now and let me help you! You gave me the best gift ever with giving birth to Maxim! So please let me take care of you!" Your wife replied.

So this was about her showing how much she appreciated what you did. You didn't think she had to do so much cause you both wanted a Baby and you offered to carry it. And the entire pregnancy she was always there. Even when you woke her up in the middle of the night and she went to grab snacks from the gas Station cause you were craving something.

Your sister Mini came to meet her nephew with her wife Clara and your niece Harper and Nephew Koby. They brought over some Gifts. Including a Matilda Jersey with your number and Name on it.

"He is so adorable!" Your sister said as you handed him over to her while Harper sat in your lap carefully.

"He is small." Harper told you.

"indeed he is." You said with a soft smile.

"He was in your aunties Belly until yesterday." Clara explained.

"like Koby was in yours. And i was in mommys Belly!" The little Girl figured out.

"exactly like that." Wally answered.

Koby was sitting in Claras lap. Looking at his new cousin. Clapping his hands together. Smiling softly. His little tongue sticking out.

"you got yourself a new buddy there, Koby?" You said to your nephew with a smile and the almost 10 months old started to let out some Happy giggles. Harper got a turn holding Maxim with the help of your wife.

And then more people you love started showing up. All of your teammates from Arsenal showed up with Gifts. Even though you got lots of Gifts for the Baby shower.

"let me hold my Cousin!" Kyra stated. You handed him over to Kyra who indeed was like a niece for you in a way cause your sister was basically a Mom to her.

"He is really cute!" Lotte told you.

"yeah ,you did pretty well. He looks like a little Angel!" Kyra said.

"He looks like a doll. So sweet!" Alessia spoke up.

"i want to get some Newborn snuggles in as well, please!" Leah answered.

You ended up having a Pizza Party and just enjoying the time with all of your loved ones. Lia always making sure you were okay and had everything you needed.

[vandme12]

I barely see Ronin as a mechanic! Headcanons/Oneshots!

This was in my drafts for days..

You're not exactly sure how it happened. One minute, you’re flopped on Ronin's couch, droning on about how bored you are—how you could die of it, actually, right here, right now. The next, he's dragging you out to the garage like a wolf with a chew toy, all sharp teeth and brighter eyes, muttering something about “if you’re gonna whine, might as well make yourself useful.”

Useful, apparently, means learning how to fix cars. Because that’s what he does when he’s not busy tearing people apart. A little hands-on therapy. Take something broken, make it purr again. You guess it fits—devils need hobbies, too.

“I still think you should just let me die of boredom,” you grumble, arms folded as you watch him prop the hood open. It groans like a corpse stretching in its grave, metal rasping against metal.

Ronin snorts. "Dramatic much? C'mon, darlin', ain't gonna kill ya to learn how an engine works. Might even save your pretty ass one day."

You give him a look that could peel paint. "Or you could just fix it for me. That's what boyfriends are for."

That earns you a low, wicked laugh. The kind that slides under your skin and stays there. "Oh, sweet thing, you're in for it now. Open up those pretty hands—time to get 'em dirty."

He hands you a wrench, and you hold it like it's a foreign object. Ronin leans over the engine block, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked in grease and little healing scrapes. He’s beautiful in the most ridiculous way: all messy burgundy hair, shark-teeth grin, and a nicotine burn low on his wrist. A devil working the bones of a machine.

And, lucky you—you get to be his little apprentice.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence. Ronin's in his element, already half-lost to the work. Fingers curling around bolts like he could coax the car to life with touch alone.

“Changing the spark plugs,” he says. Then, when you give him your best bewildered expression, he chuckles. “They help make the magic happen, baby. No spark, no fire, no joyride. Same as people, really.”

“Poetic,” you deadpan. “So, where do I start?”

Ronin tilts his head toward the engine. "Get in here, darlin. I ain't gonna hold your hand the whole way."

That is a lie, by the way. He absolutely will.

You squeeze next to him, shoulder brushing his. The garage smells like old oil, sweat, and something sweetly metallic underneath—not quite blood, but close enough that your stomach flips. His heat soaks into your skin when he leans in, hands guiding yours over the metal innards.

He explains things in that lazy drawl of his, a little smug every time you mess up. And you mess up a lot. Your fingers slip, your grip's too weak, you curse when you almost drop a spark plug into the engine. Ronin just watches, like he's enjoying the spectacle of you struggling.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, “you’re real cute when you’re useless.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back, except it comes out a little too breathy. Which, of course, he catches. His smile goes sharp enough to cut.

"Careful, darlin'. Keep talkin' like that, I might start thinkin' you like it when I'm mean."

Your hands falter, and you feel his gaze crawl over you. Heavy, hot. You don't answer, because what would you even say? He's not wrong.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer but no less dangerous. “Tighten that one, yeah? Let’s see if you can follow basic fuckin' instructions.”

You try. You really do. But the angle's weird, and your fingers keep slipping, and why the hell is everything in a car so awkward? Your knee bumps against the wheel well when you lean in deeper, and suddenly you're halfway sprawled over the engine like a sacrificial offering.

Perfect. Exactly what Ronin wanted.

He catches you before you can slide further, one grease-slick hand curling around your waist. His other hand plucks the wrench from your grip with infuriating ease.

“Clumsy thing,” he drawls. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“You could start by letting me go,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not even a little. And Ronin’s the last person alive to fall for your lies.

His fingers press harder against your waist. "Nah," he says, low and rough, “I like you right where you are.”

He kisses you before you can fire back. Messy, claiming, dragging the breath from your lungs. His teeth catch your lower lip and tug, pulling a noise from your throat you weren’t planning to make. The taste of him is familiar—smoke and something darker beneath it, something that’s always felt a little like danger. Like sin in the shape of a man.

When he pulls back, you’re half-dizzy. Your hands are still braced against the edge of the car, and you can feel how tightly he’s holding you, like you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“See?” he purrs. “Told ya fixin' cars could be fun.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you press closer anyway.

He grins, blood-red and wicked. "Nah. You love me. Now, quit slacking and hand me that wrench, sweetheart. We got work to do."

Head canons!

"Bored, darling?" If you so much as hint that you’ve got nothing to do, Ronin’s dragging you to the garage. He’s already got his coveralls half-unzipped, grease smeared across his jaw like a smudged halo—saint of the scrapyard, king of the underworld. He’ll plop you in front of some busted hunk of metal and call it a “bonding experience.” (Translation: watching you struggle is his favorite form of entertainment.)

Zero discounts, actually. If anything, Ronin charges you extra. Call it the “boyfriend tax.” He’ll fix your ride, sure—but only after making you bribe him with a kiss (or several). You’re not getting off easy. If you try to sweet-talk your way to a lower price? He just leans in, smirks against your ear, and murmurs, “Ya know, darling, I could break it worse if you wanted somethin’ new. Keep me busy.”

His garage is your second home. He doesn’t just let anyone hang around while he works—this is sacred ground, baby. But you? You get to sit on the workbench, legs swinging while he’s half-buried under an engine. He’ll toss you snacks from his stash (suspiciously all junk food) and occasionally drag you over just to “hold something.” (Spoiler: he just wants you close.)

Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were getting a discount? Cute. Ronin charges extra for you—calls it the “Tax.” Every time you ask, he tuts like you're breaking his poor, mechanical heart. But let your car actually break down? Suddenly, it’s "Nah, baby, I got this." He’ll fix it before you even notice, no charge—he just likes making you owe him. (And oh, you owe him plenty.) "Ain’t about the money, darlin’. It’s about makin’ sure you need me. And you do, don’tcha?"

Every. Single. Time. You visit the garage, he’s sweaty, just to make sure you suffer. Bonus points if you’re there in the summer—he’ll stretch, flex, and wink while holding a wrench like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. Loves to call you his “little assistant”—but gives you the most pointless tasks. "Hold this bolt. No, not like that. With love, babe. Jeez, where’s your passion?" If you complain? You’re getting pinned against the nearest surface with grease-smudged fingers trailing down your jaw. "Maybe if you were good, I’d give ya the easy jobs. But nah, you like it rough, don’tcha?"

He makes you “help” with repairs. Even though you suck. But he’s patient—weirdly patient for someone with blood on his hands. He’ll guide your fingers over the engine, teach you the difference between spark plugs and fuel injectors like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And if you mess up? He just laughs, leans over you, and drawls, “Cute try, baby. Maybe leave the hard stuff to me.”

Car rides are a whole other game. After fixing your vehicle, he insists on a “test drive” with you in the passenger seat. He drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your thigh—like he’s claiming both the road and you. “Gotta make sure it’s runnin’ smooth,” he says, voice thick with innuendo.

Grease-streaked kisses. You always leave his garage marked—fingers on your waist, motor oil smudged along your neck from when he drags you close. And if you complain? He just grins. “Looks better on ya than it does on me, darling.”

Your vehicle has an unofficial VIP pass. No matter how busy he is, if it’s your car in trouble, everything else can wait. Doesn’t matter if it’s a busted tire or the whole engine blowing out—he’ll fix it, grinning like he lives for the chaos you bring. Just don’t expect him to let you off easy: “You keep breakin’ shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you just wanna see me sweaty.”

His garage playlist is insane. Half industrial metal, half bluesy rock—loud enough to shake the walls. You pretend to hate it, but there’s something weirdly attractive about watching Ronin, sleeves rolled up, half-cursing along to the music while elbow-deep in some Frankenstein engine. (And if you’re lucky? He’ll pull you into a grease-streaked dance right there on the oil-stained floor.)

[sosasturns]

chratt CHALLENGERS ── win some, lose some.

▶︎ Now Playing: Back to the Old House The Smiths

part one

the motel lobby smells like burnt coffee and dust. the kind of place where the carpet hasn’t been changed in decades, and the vending machines hum louder than the air conditioning.

chris steps up to the counter, shifting his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. his curls are still damp from a quick rinse in the tournament showers, and his hoodie sticks to his back, courtesy of a long day in the sun. he taps his knuckles against the front desk, glancing at the empty chair behind it.

no one.

he sighs, rolling his shoulders. his body aches—nothing serious, just the usual tightness after a match. he’d played well. not his best, but enough to make it past this round. not that it mattered. the payout wouldn’t hit his account until the follow-ing week, which meant—

a rustling sound. a moment later, an older woman appears, straightening her blouse as she shuffles toward the desk. she squints at him through thick glasses, lips pursing.

“you need a room?” she asks, voice raspy, unimpressed.

chris exhales, dropping his duffel onto the counter. “yeah. just for the night.”

she nods, typing something into the ancient-looking computer. he pulls out his card, slides it across.

a beat.

then another.

the woman frowns. tries again.

chris already knows what she’s about to say before she even opens her mouth.

“declined.” she pushes the card back toward him.

he leans forward, drumming his fingers against the counter. “try again.”

“i did.”

“try one more time.”

she levels him with a look, unimpressed. “sweetheart, unless you got another form of payment, i can’t do anything for you.”

chris inhales through his nose, glancing over his shoulder. an older couple stands behind him in line, their eyes flicking between him and the receptionist with mild interest. he knows what they’re thinking. he can hear the headline now—professional tennis player can’t afford cheap motel room.

could he call his parents?

yeah.

would he?

not a fucking chance.

chris turns back to the woman, letting his lips curl into something easy, something smooth. he tilts his head, gaze dropping just slightly.

“you sure there’s nothing you can do for me?” his voice dips lower, a slow drag of syllables. “just for a couple of hours?”

the woman snorts, unimpressed. “son, i’m too old to be charmed out of a paycheck.”

chris grins, knocking his knuckles against the counter. “figured it was worth a shot.”

she sighs, shaking her head. “look, the money’ll post in a few days, right?”

“yeah.”

“then come back in a few days.”

he glances outside, where his car sits under a flickering streetlight. the inside is a mess of gear, spare clothes, and half-empty gatorade bottles.

yeah. he’s not coming back.

with one last nod, he grabs his duffel, tossing it over his shoulder. the couple behind him watches as he steps past them, lingering judgment thick in the air.

he ignores it.

now parked in the challenger lot, he reclines the driver’s seat as far back as it’ll go. he yawns, already pulling his hoodie over his head, letting it fall across his lap. he exhales, rolling his neck.

it’s fine.

he’s been in worse places.

he drapes an arm over his eyes, shifting to get comfortable. he’ll figure it out in the morning.

for now, he just needs to sleep.

the knock on the window is sharp, knuckles rapping against glass.

chris stirs, blinking against the early morning light. his neck aches, his back stiff from the angle he passed out in. for a second, he forgets where he is—half expecting to roll over onto a real mattress, stretch out under real sheets—until he cracks one eye open and sees a flashlight beam cutting through the windshield.

he groans. rubs his face. forces himself upright.

outside, a security guard stares at him, arms crossed, brows raised.

chris squints, rubbing a hand through his hair. “what?”

“you can’t sleep here.”

he exhales through his nose, stretching his arms out before slumping back against the headrest. “nah, man, i’m a tennis player. i play in a few hours.” his voice is rough, still heavy with sleep.

the guard doesn’t move. just flicks his gaze over chris’s car—at the mess of duffel bags and scattered receipts, the racket leaning against the passenger seat, the hoodie draped over his lap. then back at him.

a slow, unimpressed blink. “sure.”

chris huffs out a laugh, rubbing his hand over his jaw. he grabs his phone, checking the time. four hours till his match.

“look, i’ll be out of here soon,” he says, already reaching for his keys.

the guard doesn’t respond, just gives him another long look before walking off.

chris exhales, running a hand through his hair. in the reflection of the rearview mirror, he catches himself—eyes heavy, curls a mess, the tired lines in his face more sharper than they were under the motel’s lights.

his stomach twists.

he looks away.

inside the challenger’s front lobby, the air is thick with the scent of fresh tennis balls and cheap coffee. the walls are lined with banners, rackets, trophies, and promotional posters—the biggest one by the desk.

chris steps up, rolling his shoulders.

“i’m a tennis player,” he says.

the woman at the front desk lifts a brow, gaze flicking from his face to the chaos of gear surrounding them. “clearly.”

chris lets out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. “chris owen.”

at that, she perks up. “own…” she trails off, thoughtful. “you played juniors, right?”

he nods.

she hums, clicking through the registration system. “thought i recognized your name. i was a line judge at the junior us open back in ‘09.”

chris lifts a brow. “no shit?”

“no shit.” she smiles. “we’re happy to have you here.” a beat. “you’ve got your first match against”—she checks her screen—“leon carris.”

chris sighs. he’s heard the name before. solid baseline player, nothing crazy, but the kind of guy who made you run.

he rubs the back of his neck. “you think i could get some of that prize money in advance?”

she tilts her head. “why?”

“had a problem with my card at the hotel a few blocks back.”

she exhales, folding her hands on the counter. “chris, you know we don’t usually pay out until the player finishes the tournament.”

he huffs out a laugh. “yeah, yeah, just thought i’d ask.”

she pauses, then smirks. “i mean… you could always lose.”

he lifts a brow.

she shrugs. “then we’d have to cut your check this evening.”

chris presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, nodding slowly. he doesn’t respond, but the thought lingers. could he?

before he can entertain it any further, she sits up a little straighter. “oh, by the way,” she says. “there’s a rumor going around.”

chris’s brow furrows. “yeah?”

“last-minute wildcard.” she smirks, reaching behind the desk.

he watches as she picks up a wilson racket—matt’s face on the packaging.

chris is quiet.

there’s a long beat.

then, slowly, he turns his head, sighing heavily.

great.

© SOSASTURNS

TAGLIST: @just-a-girl-1 @luvjaeeee @submattenthusiast @pair-of-pantaloons @sturniolo1trips @sturns-mermaid @mvttsturn @sturn777