#I was so confident I could get him perfect ;;

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Days of the Week

Monday is your grouchy and uptight coworker. He's a stickler for the rules and not someone who confesses his feelings. He'll usually push his spectacles up his nose and frown at you whenever you try and do something new, no matter how simple.

"What did I say about filling out the spreadsheets by yourself? You've confused all the figures."

He'll push both you and your chair out of the way and settle himself at your desk like one messed up spreadsheet means the death of the whole company. If you ever try and thank him, he'll glare at you like you've insulted his whole bloodline.

"Tch. Just ask me next time."

If you pay attention, you might notice the blush that tinges his cheeks whenever you smile at him. You might notice the way he straightens his already perfect tie before coming over to harangue you about company dress code and your slightly-too-short skirts. (Why is he noticing your skirt length to begin with? Perv).

Luckily for him, you're usually too irritated or harassed to pay attention. His secret crush will be staying a secret for as long as he can manage.

Tuesday is your overly sweet neighbour. He introduced himself to you the second you moved in - offering you a tupperware of homecooked food because he knew exactly how overwhelming moving in could be. He's the guy you call when you need a shelf hung up or a stubborn jar opened. He'll raise his brows when you thank him, secretly pleased that you asked for his help.

"That's what neighbours are for, right?"

He doesn't mention that the previous tenants left him a spare key to your apartment. What if you get hurt one day while you're locked inside, with no one able to reach you in time? It's safer for you both if he keeps it a secret.

And if he occasionally let's himself into your apartment while you're at work, it's just to keep an eye on the place. It's what any good neighbour would do. So stop wondering what the white stains on your panties are, okay?

Wednesday is your unassuming classmate. They're the quiet kind, apt to fade into the background without meaning to.

At first, they were envious of you. Pretty, clever, friendly - you aren't the type people can easily ignore. They watch you whenever they can, desperate to somehow copy that elusive charm that makes you so special.

It doesn't work, obviously. When they try smiling like you it looks stiff and unnatural. When they copy your outfits they feel exposed, self conscious. When they try wearing the same perfume as you they break out in hives that last all week.

They can't be you. No one can.

But they aren't going to give up so easily. Maybe your luck doesn't come from clothes or hair or makeup. Maybe it's something deep inside of you, something that can be ripped out and kept for themselves.

They're going to learn what makes you so special, even if it means following you home with duct tape and chloroform.

Thursday is your favourite professor. He's the quietly confident type, the kind of man who doesn't have to shout to keep the lecture hall's attention. He's insightful and empathetic, his brown eyes always warm.

You trust him totally and completely. You don't notice when he starts resting his hand on your lower back whenever you stand next to him. You don't notice that your papers are always graded more harshly than your classmates. You don't realise he wants you, not even when he offers you private office hours despite his packed schedule.

You're a real cock tease, always looking at him with those doe eyes and pretty lips. He's a patient man - he'll have you eventually. It doesn't matter if it takes him two weeks or two years, he'll keep dropping your grades until you beg him for help.

You trust him. You really, really shouldn't.

Friday is the star athlete that everyone admires. Handsome, confident, clever. A man like that would usually invite envy, would get dirty looks thrown at his back and nasty surprises in his locker.

Not him though. Everyone loves Friday.

Well, everyone except for you. There's something about him that frightens you. Underneath his golden boy facade, there's something rotten and selfish.

You don't realise he's noticed your dislike until he corners you after class one day. He wraps one hand around your wrist as everyone files out of the lecture hall, too eager for the weekend to notice the slightly panicked look on your face.

"Listen, I hate to think I've done something to offend you. If I have, just tell me now and we can sort it out," he tells you, blue eyes cold and distant despite his pretty boy smile.

You tug at your wrist but his grip is unbreakable. He isn't hurting you, but his strength keeps you right where he wants you.

"We barely even know each other," you say, your eyes jumping to the door and the suddenly empty corridors. "I don't have any issue with you."

"That's a lie and we both know it. I don't want to push you, but I'm not letting you go until I know what I've done."

You finally meet his eyes. "You have it too easy in life. You get everything you want. I don't hate you. But I don't like you either."

His expression is a careful blank. "I'm not going to apologise for what I have or for what I've been given."

You tug at your wrist again and he finally let's you go.

"I don't expect you to," you mutter as you swing your bag over your shoulder and hurry out the door.

He watches you leave and inside him some selfish, possessive creature lifts its head and growls. You should have known - when a man with everything he could ever want is shown something he can't have, that just makes him want it all the more.

"Gonna make her mine," he says to the empty classroom. A promise or a threat, even he can't be sure.

Saturday is a party girl. The kind of bombshell who wears a tiny metallic bikini, a cowboy hat and absolutely nothing else to a rave.

She knows every kind of cocktail and every kind of fun time pill. She's shamelessly cocky and shamelessly outgoing. When you run into her at a concert, she'll get you all the way to the stage no matter how packed the crowds are. 

You'd think a girl like that would know all about boundaries and consent and you'd be right. The thing is, she ignores it just as easily as she ignores speed limits and DUI citations.

She'll kiss you when you're too drunk to say no. She'll give you pills that she knows you can't handle just to take you home. She'll ignore you when you try and push her away, weak and intoxicated and too woozy to form a full sentence.

And the worst part? She knows you won't report her. Girls can get drunk and touchy without it ever being called a crime.

She'll run her hands up your thighs and nip your neck and tell you she loves you. But she's always long gone by morning.

She's just a girl, your honour. And she'll use that excuse as many times as she needs to.

Sunday is your local barista. He's an artist on the side, the kind of creative soul who can't express himself without the help of charcoal and acrylic.

He's too stoic to ever work the cash register or take orders, but he somehow always ends up there when you're in line.

He usually sneaks an extra sweet treat into your order. And if he has the time, he'll usually leave a little doodle on your receipt.

He hasn't spoken to you much, but he can feel the red thread of fate tugging you closer everyday. You're soulmates, lovers meant to be, fated by heaven and all its angels.

It doesn't matter how long it takes, you'll be his eventually. He can read it in the stars.

[mononijikayu]

paninindigan kita — ryomen sukuna.

“You know what, I changed my mind. You can go ahead if you want.” he’d said, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m not really the best company.” You looked at him with a raised brow. “You just told me that you wanna get home together.” “Yeah, but I—” “You think I care?” you shot back, smiling and pulled at his arm. “Come on, let’s go.” “Hey, aren’t I gonna have a choice here?” You giggled. “When someone makes a promise, he gives up his right to rescind the offer!”

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Hotshot, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/ Hurt, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Delinquent Trope, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Injury, Mention of Violence, Mention of Delinquency, Mention of Injury, Mention of Physical Fighting, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 7k words.

Note: i know im in the middle of the valentines special, but i just can't help myself. i reread lovesick and it just slaps you know??? i ended up thinking about what could be a sequel to it. i ended up thinking about opm songs as title, since opm songs just hit different when it comes to love.

paninindigan kita is soooo perfect for this. oh and this is another multiverse of concubine reader and sukuna, where they are ACTUALLY in love. so i hope you enjoy this little gift. i think this is,,,,the care before next week. nanami's fic is NOT for the faint hearted. it requires tissues. anyway, i love you all!!! see you on the 10th <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IF ONE WAS BEING HONEST, NOT MANY CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS MAKE IT THE WAY YOU AND VARSITY CAPTAIN RYOMEN SUKUNA DO. That is the unadulterated truth, tried and tested through the ages and has stayed true to itself.

You and Sukuna had started dating in a very discreet manner in junior high. It was a very well kept secret for a time. And that was to be expected. The Sukuna people knew today was not the Sukuna he used to be. 

That’s why you supposed everything about it was new and uncharted, something even both of you could not expect. Everything about it was a wild, unexpected match that neither of you saw coming but somehow made perfect sense.

Ryomen Sukuna was already by this time an infamous troublemaker, a magnetic force of nature for danger and trouble. He was someone  with a reputation as the school’s untouchable menace and he proved that almost every day. 

Teachers sighed when they saw his name on the attendance list. The school staff could only release a curse and a groan with the realization that they would have to clean up after him and many students from the whole of the junior high and high school whispered about the many fights he always got into but somehow never lost. 

He was that young boy with the proud bruised knuckles and a defiant smirk, walking through the halls like he owned the place even though authority figures would have loved to see him expelled.

His uniform was perpetually rumpled, his tie loose like he couldn’t be bothered to fit into anyone’s mold. Even all the parents warned their kids to steer clear of him, to avoid trouble.

But you? You saw something else.

It wasn’t just the raw confidence or the magnetic way he carried himself, though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was the glimpses of a quieter Ryomen Sukuna. You knew the boy who lingered behind the gym after school, looking out at the sky as if he was waiting for something bigger than this tiny town. 

Often he would drink a strawberry milk carton and eat anpan and somehow sleep as peacefully as a kitten. You knew the boy who would shove his hands in his pockets shrewdly and softly mutter a word of thanks when he woke up, realizing that you were also sharing his space and quietly brought him bandages when he rested there after a particularly bad fight.

That continued on for a while. And somehow it became a routine. Though, it changed from time to time. At times you found yourselves eating lunch together and talking to each other in between the bites. At times you both ended up playing card games, after he brought some with him — since he pocketed it off some poor first year junior he defeated. 

(Though he brought it back when you scolded him about it.

He groaned on and on about it, telling you he’s not going to do it.

But before you went home from cleaning duty, you saw him place it on that first year’s table.)

Sometimes, you get into the habit of listening to music. Which made you realize that you both liked classical music. Though his favorite is Tchaikovsky and yours is Mozart. At one point, the two of you were bringing out books. 

At first you were surprised that he was someone that seemed to read for fun at all. Yet he did. If anything, he read books you didn’t even know about yet. And he would lend you his copies so you both can talk about it (and occasionally debate and argue.)

You were perplexed by the person he was. Everything about him was a contradiction. And almost certainly, it was the thing that pulled you close to him, almost like you could be the moon to his Earth. But you realized that deep down, in the depths of the person he was — he was someone that was brilliant. 

Almost radiant scarlet in the rough gravel it dwelled upon. And you were perhaps the only one who knew that. The thought of that had made you bitter for a while, because such a gem shouldn’t be lost in the ether. Yet, there was a part of you that recognized that it was alright. Because you were already there. He wasn’t alone anymore. And he was glad for it. 

Soon enough, you both realized that you were going the same route home. Just that you liked to walk home and he liked to take his bike. And because he doesn’t like abrupt endings, just as in the book. So, he suggested walking you home himself. After that, he thought about it. After that day, he left his bike at home. 

And then he came up to you about walking home together. That first time he asked you to walk home with him, he’d tried to play it cool. He’d never gone home with anyone, let alone a girl. Let alone you.

And so, conclusion is that he was nervous.

He wanted to do well about it. 

Yet, he was a trainwreck almost immediately.

“You know what, I changed my mind. You can go ahead if you want.” he’d said, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m not really the best company.”

You looked at him with a raised brow. “You just told me that you wanna get home together.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“You think I care?” you shot back, smiling and pulled at his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Hey, aren’t I gonna have a choice here?”

You giggled. “When someone makes a promise, he gives up his right to rescind the offer!”

You could hear him grumbling under his breath, but it was nothing too bad to be sure. And that didn’t matter, not when his hands were warm against your own. Not when you could feel his scarlet eyes trailing against you so tenderly. Not when he was letting you lead the way anyway.

From that day forward, Ryomen Sukuna never went home alone again.

At first, you kept things quiet. At Sukuna’s request, of course. Sukuna didn’t want your name dragged through the mud because of him. People talked enough shit already. About how he was trouble, how he was destined for nowhere good. They just say everything that doesn't count to you. 

You knew better, but he hated the idea of you being lumped in with his reputation. After all, you were better than he was, almost akin to a damn real life angel. You deserved better than having been considered a deal with him.

But of course, the stubborn girl you were was steadfast in saying no and only no. Not even when he gets into the worst situations.

“Why do you even hang around me?” he asked one afternoon, leaning against the chain-link fence near the basketball court. The sun glinted off the sweat on his brow from another fight he hadn’t started but definitely finished.

Sukuna huffed, leaning back against the wall as you pressed the bandage onto his arm with more care than he thought necessary. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly, but the rare smile tugging at his lips betrayed the amusement he tried to hide.  

“You’re terrible at this, you know that?” he muttered, his tone gruff.  

“Oh, I’m sorry, hotshot.” you shot back, glancing up at him with mock offense. “Next time I’ll let you bleed all over the place like some dramatic action hero.”  

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve had worse.”  

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. I’ve Had Worse.” You smirked, smoothing the edges of the bandage down. “You’re lucky I’m even doing this.”  

“Why?” he asked, almost challengingly.  

“Because I want to.” you said simply, not bothering to look up as you reached for another bandage. “That a problem?”  

“That’s a terrible reason, really.” he muttered, his lips twitching. “Not well thought out.”  

“And if it is?” you asked, finally glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “Whatchu planning to do about it?”  

For a moment, Sukuna just stared at you, his sharp features softening in the warm glow of the room. The mischievous curl of your lips, the way you leaned in just slightly closer than you needed to—it was infuriating and endearing all at once.  

“Dunno, really.” he said, his voice low but tinged with humor. “Maybe I’ll let you keep patching me up. You’re already doing such a stellar job here.”  

You scoffed, giving his arm a light smack. “Ungrateful jerk.”  

“Careful now.” he teased, his grin widening. “You keep calling me names, and I might start bleeding just to make you work harder.”  

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” you shot back, laughing. “I’ll use glitter bandages next time. Make you look real tough.”  

Sukuna chuckled, a rare sound that made your heart flip in your chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” he muttered.  

“And you’re lucky I like fixing up dumbasses who can’t avoid getting hurt.” you replied, sticking the last bandage on his arm with an overly dramatic pat. “Done. Now, try not to get stabbed again for, like, a week, yeah?”  

“No promises, babe.” he said, standing up and rolling his shoulders with a smirk. “But I’ll let you keep playing nurse if I do.”  

“Deal.” you said, grinning. “As long as you don’t complain next time.”  

“Not a chance.” Sukuna muttered, though the rare, genuine smile still lingered as he followed you out of the room.

As you finished packing away the first aid kit, Sukuna leaned casually against the chain wall, his usual confidence back in full swing. You glanced up at him, hesitating for a moment as you watched him flex his arm slightly, testing the bandages.  

“You know, ’kuna.” you began, your voice softer than before, “I don’t just patch you up because I feel like it.”  

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering. “What? Do you do it for practice or something?”  

“No, no.” you said, laughing lightly. You stepped closer to him, your heart pounding, but you managed to hold his gaze. “I do it because I like you.”  

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ryomen Sukuna looked genuinely stunned. His crimson eyes widened slightly, his usual sharp tongue momentarily silenced. He looked at you as the sly look in your face slowly melted into the tender demure one, blushing bright everywhere on you. But almost instantaneously, you got your resolve back.

“…What?” he finally said, the word coming out quieter than you’d expected.  

“I like you, I said.” you repeated, more confidently this time. “Like, really like you. And not just because you let me fix you up after you inevitably get into trouble. I like you.”  

Sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you worried you’d miscalculated, that maybe he didn’t feel the same way. But then, ever so slightly, his lips twitched.  

“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice low.  

“Completely.” you said, crossing your arms with a grin. “What, is that so hard to believe? You’re not that bad, you know.”  

His gaze softened, a rare vulnerability creeping into his usually guarded expression. “…I didn’t think you were stupid enough to like someone like me.” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone.  

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer to him. “Well, surprise! Turns out I’m just that stupid.”  

For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t say anything. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he rubbed the back of his neck, his grin finally breaking through. “You’re unbelievable.”  

“And you’re not saying anything about how you feel about this.” you teased, poking him lightly in the chest.  

He smirked, grabbing your hand before you could poke him again. “Maybe I’ll keep you guessing.”  

“Or maybe you’ll just admit you like me too, you know?” you shot back, leaning in slightly.  

Sukuna sighed dramatically, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fine. I like you too. Happy?”  

You grinned. “Ecstatic.”  

He rolled his eyes, but the faint blush creeping up his neck didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re gonna be a pain in my ass about this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely, hotshot.” you said, laughing.  

Sukuna shook his head, but his rare, genuine smile lingered. “Yeah, well… don’t expect me to go easy on you just because I like you back.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” you said, winking back at him. “Now come on, I still want that sundae from the convenience store!”

And for the first time, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t look like the untouchable, tough guy everyone thought he was. 

He looked happy.  

Too damn happy.

And it looked good on him.

Both of you enjoyed the quiet of your new bliss as much as possible. You both kept to yourselves most of the time, expanding on the adventures you already made as your routine. You both kept it discreet, and this time because you both weren’t ready for anyone to just know all about it. You wanted to keep Sukuna all to yourself. And in turn, he did too.

But despite your best efforts, secrets have a way of getting out.

The day everything changed was after Sukuna took on three older guys who thought they could corner him near the sports field. He walked away victorious, of course, but with a split lip and a bloodied brow. You rushed to his side without a second thought, cupping his face as the crowd murmured around you.

“You’re bleeding again, 'kuna.” you said, dabbing at the cut with a tissue from your bag.

“I’m fine.” he grumbled, though his eyes softened under your touch.

The crowd wasn’t subtle, not one bit.

“Wait... are they... together?”

“No way.”

“Her? With him?”

“She’s too good for that delinquent.”

Ryomen Sukuna heard every word, his jaw tightening. He was used to the judgment, but hearing it directed at you made his blood boil. He was ready to snap, to tell everyone to shut the hell up until you squeezed his hand.

“Let them talk their shit.” you said calmly, meeting his eyes. “I don’t care.”

The warmth in your voice melted the tension in his shoulders. You didn’t care. And that was enough.

From that day forward, Sukuna didn’t bother hiding how much he cared about you. He walked you to class, carried your bag when it was heavy, and glared down at anyone who dared look at you sideways. People whispered, of course, but no one was brave enough to say anything to his face.

You saw sides of him no one else did, one he only exposed to the person he held dearest. The one that devotedly belonged to you. And you kept him safe, closer than ever before. You started to build a puzzle, full of every bit of him, little by little. 

The Sukuna who stole fries off your plate but always left you the last bite, who texted you to make sure you got home safe, even when you weren’t walking together, and who fought less often because you made him want to be better.

He was still rough around the edges, still intimidating to everyone else, that was true enough. But with you? He was just Sukuna. Your Sukuna. And that was all you ever wanted him to be.

Life did change after your relationship went public, though not as dramatically as you might have expected. Sukuna was still the notorious troublemaker with a penchant for glaring and intimidation. 

You were still the person everyone was convinced was too good for him. But if anyone thought Ryomen Sukuna would mellow out completely, they were sorely mistaken. Especially now that you both were in the last year of high school.

That one afternoon, as the two of you walked home together, Sukuna stuffed his hands into his pockets, his usual scowl in place. “People still can’t believe you’re with me, y’know.” he muttered. “Heard some idiot today say you’re slumming it. Tch.”

You snorted, nudging his side. “Just jealous, ‘kuna. I’m pretty sure they can’t handle that the delinquent king got the best catch in school.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward slyly. “You think I’m the delinquent king? Sounds like I need a crown or something, don’t I?”

“Oh, please.” you teased. “If anyone’s getting a crown, it’s me. I’m obviously the one carrying this relationship, my love.”

Sukuna stopped dead in his tracks, dramatically clutching his chest. “Wow. Betrayed by my own girlfriend. After all the fights I didn’t start for your sake.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“You knew that going in.” he shot back, grinning now as he draped an arm over your shoulder.

The playful banter continued as you reached his house. You both planned to eat dinner together before he took you home. Your parents didn’t mind that you were coming home late, since they were also working. 

And they understood that you were after the volleyball team manager. Though they didn’t know about how early you finished — primarily because Sukuna always ends practice early so he can spend more time with you before he takes you home.

Coming inside the house, he welcomes you inside. Sukuna carefully kicked off his shoes with a huff, flopping onto the couch like a cat claiming its territory. You followed him rather quickly, settling in beside him as he lazily tossed an arm around you.

“You know, my love, I’ve been thinking.” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “You’re actually kind of sweet when no one’s looking.”

“Don’t start spreading lies now.” he teased, his grin widening.

“Oh, I’m serious. Big bad Ryomen Sukuna, all soft and cuddly.”

He narrowed his scarlet eyes. “Say that again, and I’m carrying you out of here fireman style.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The next thing you knew, Sukuna had hoisted you up over his shoulder, laughing as you squealed and flailed. “Ryomen Sukuna! Put me down!”

“Too late, babe.” he said smugly. “You called me soft. Now you’re getting evicted.”

“I live here half the time already!”

“Not anymore!”

Eventually, he relented, setting you back down with a grin that made your heart skip. You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it, don’t you?” he said confidently, leaning down until his face was inches from yours.

“…Maybe.” you admitted with a smile.

He grinned triumphantly. “That’s what I thought.”

As much as the world still saw Ryomen Sukuna as the intimidating, wild Cursed King, you knew the truth. Beneath the scowl and reputation was a boy who loved fiercely, who fought for what mattered, and who never let go of the one person who saw the real him. 

And honestly? That was more than enough for you.

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AFTER A YEAR AND A HALF, YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER FOUND OUT. The news broke just right before the typical family dinner on the Sunday. And you had wished it never happened. Because it just broke your heart to endure this.

There was a seemingly innocent comment from a well-meaning neighbor who talked with her high schooler daughter about how "Ryomen Sukuna from the volleyball team always walks you home." And naturally, that made your parents curious. A little digging here and there from the neighbor, it was out.

You could practically hear the record scratch when your mother paused mid-stir of the soup, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Your father, ever the stoic one, lowered his newspaper with a furrowed brow.

It didn’t take long for their disapproval to make itself crystal clear.

They didn’t care that Sukuna’s presence grounded you, that his gruff demeanor melted into rare softness when it was just the two of you. They didn’t see the boy who remembered the little things—how you liked your ramen without onions, your favorite snacks for stressful days, or how he always carried an extra umbrella just in case you forgot yours.

None of that mattered.

What they saw was a scowling boy with tattoos crawling up his arms and a reputation for fists that spoke louder than words. They didn’t hear his low, thoughtful hums as he followed the rhythm of the anime openings he adored, or his boyish grin when he perfectly timed his spikes on the volleyball court.

Your mother wrung her hands, pacing. “That boy—he’s nothing but trouble, I’m telling you. What future does someone like that have?”

“Volleyball captain or not, it doesn’t matter.” your father grunted. “He’s not the kind of person I want near my daughter.”

You clenched your fists under the table, biting your tongue until it hurt. They didn’t know him, not really. They didn’t know how he carefully patched you up after your own scrapes or how he walked at your pace, even when it was inconvenient for him. 

They hadn’t seen him laugh, hadn’t heard his proud, slightly cocky declaration when you aced an important test: That’s my girl.

“I love him.” you said, voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.

Your mother looked at you as though you’d just confessed to a crime. “Love?” she repeated incredulously. “You’re too young to understand love, and especially with him.”

Your father’s jaw tightened. “You’ll end this nonsense immediately.”

“No.” you said firmly, standing up, your chair scraping against the floor. “I won’t.”

They didn't expect that.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you continued, trembling but resolute. “He’s not what you think. He’s kind, thoughtful, and he’s helped me become a better person. Just because he’s rough around the edges doesn’t mean he’s bad.”

“You’re throwing your future away for him?” your mother exclaimed, pacing across the living room.

“He’s nothing but trouble!” your father added, shaking his head. “We didn’t raise you to make these kinds of decisions.”

“I’m not throwing away anything!” you shouted back, voice shaking. “Sukuna’s not what you think he is. You don’t know him at all!”

“We know enough, daughter.” your mother said sharply. “Boys like him don’t change. They just drag you down with them.”

The words hit harder than you expected, cutting deep.

“Well, maybe I get to decide what my future looks like!” you shot back, tears blurring your vision. “And it’s none of your business who I love!”

Silence hung heavy in the air, thick with words that couldn’t be unsaid. Your parents’ faces were hard, unyielding, and it was clear there would be no convincing them tonight. Heart pounding, you grabbed your bag and stormed toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” your father demanded.

“Anywhere but here.” you spat, slamming the door behind you.

You didn’t know where you were headed until your feet carried you right in front of Sukuna’s house. By the time you reached his door, your throat was raw from holding back sobs, and your chest felt like it was going to burst. You knocked twice, the sound echoing in the quiet evening.

The door carefully creaked open, revealing your Sukuna in sweatpants and a loose hoodie, hair messy like he’d just woken up from a nap. His sharp scarlet eyes softened when he saw you standing there with tear-streaked cheeks.

“Hey, babe.” he said, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

“I ran away from home.” you blurted, voice trembling.

There was a beat of silence before he stepped aside. “Well, come in. Can’t you be out here in the cold.”

You shuffled inside, dropping your bag by the door as Sukuna closed it behind you. 

“What happened?”

“Rough patch.” You whispered to your boyfriend. “.....So I left.”

“You left?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you as though he didn’t believe you. “You have a bag with you.”

“Okay, look. It was bad and I ran away.”

“You ran away?” he repeated, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “Like, for real? With the dramatic door slam and everything?”

“Yes.” you muttered, sinking onto the couch. “My parents found out and…..they don’t like you.”

Sukuna snorted, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a parent’s dream, y’know. Shocking, I know.”

“They said you’d ruin my future, my love.” you admitted, voice cracking.

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. Harsh.”

“I told them they didn’t know you.” you continued, wiping your eyes. “But they didn’t care. They said they did. Like you were some villain or something.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I mean… I do kinda have the whole villain aesthetic going for me.”

You glared at him. “Not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry.” he said, though a small grin tugged at his lips. “So, what’s the plan now? Gonna fight me for the good spot on the couch and share my instant ramen?”

The absurdity of it made you laugh through your tears. “Sounds like a great future.”

Sukuna grinned, leaning back against the couch. “Your parents are probably losing their minds right now.”

“They’ll get over it….eventually.” you said stubbornly, though doubt lingered at the edge of your voice.

“Maybe so.” he agreed, his voice softer. “But if they don’t, you can stay here. I mean, I’m kind of a mess, but I’ve got room.”

“Really?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Yeah. You’re not so bad to have around.”

The bittersweet warmth in his words made your chest ache. “Thank you, my love. Really…..I’m lucky to have you.” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Anytime, babe. Don’t worry about it.” he muttered, resting his cheek against your hair. “But, uh, just one rule.”

“What?”

“No eating all the good ramen flavors. I’m serious.”

You laughed, the sound lighter now. “Deal.”

As messy and uncertain as everything felt, sitting there with your Sukuna, so domestically and so enjoyable in the warmth of each other — everything about it didn’t seem so bad. If anything, it was a lot more than what you would expect. It was a life worth living.

The steam from Sukuna’s shower lingered in your skin as you stood by the fogged mirror, brushing your damp hair out of your face. The fight with your parents still sat heavy on your chest, but the warm water had washed away some of the weight. You exhaled slowly, steeling yourself before slipping into one of Sukuna’s oversized shirts that smelled faintly of laundry soap and him.  

Padding out into the living room, you were met with the comforting aroma of something savory simmering in the kitchen. Sukuna stood at the stove, bare-chested except for a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, stirring a pot of miso soup. His hair was a mess, damp from the lingering humidity of the house.  

“You cook?” you teased, leaning against the doorway with a raised brow.  

He didn’t even look up. “Don’t sound so surprised now. Didn’t I cook you your lunch during festival week?”  

“Oh! I thought that was store bought.” You teased him.

He raised a brow, amused. “Oh, is that so? How about I stop cooking—”

“No, no. Continue.”

He hums, moving closer to kiss your cheek. “Hm, that’s what I thought.”

The casual affection in his voice settled something inside you. The warmth of his lips stayed tender against the pinkish hues of your cheeks. You looked at him for a moment. He shook his head and smiled, pointing at the dining table. 

You nodded and sat at the small dining table, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising ease. He plated rice into two porcelain bowls, poured the steaming miso soup into the smaller soup bowls, and set them down in front of you with a clink.  

“Nothing fancy, babe. Sorry about that. I didn’t get to the grocery today. Practice lasted longer today.” he said, sitting across from you. “But it’s good to curb the cold from you, since it’s warm.”  

“Don’t worry about it, my love. It’s more than perfect.” you murmured sincerely.  

The first spoonful was simple but comforting, warmth spreading through you as you ate in comfortable silence. It was just like a hug, like your beloved boyfriend’s tender hug. You hummed as he watched you eat. Soon enough, Sukuna ate with his usual ease, occasionally glancing up at you as if to check if you were okay.  

“So……” he said after a while, leaning back in his chair. “Are you really not going home tonight?”  

Your spoon froze midway to your mouth. “I don’t know. Not tonight. And…..Maybe not for a while.”  

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Then what? Are you moving in with me?”  

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”  

“I mean, I don’t….mind.” he shrugged at you nonchalantly. “We’re young, yeah, but if that’s what you want, I’m not against it.”  

“You’re not?” you asked, stunned by how easily he said it.  

“Nah.” he said firmly. “If you’re here, I’m gonna live my life taking responsibility for you.”  

Your breath caught as the gentle pink in your cheeks turned cherry red. “Sukuna—”  

“I’m serious, babe.” he cut in, his voice softer now but unwavering. “You just walked out on everything for me. That’s not small, you know? I have to do the same. So I’m gonna make sure you’re happy, whatever it takes. I’ll figure it out. You’re my one and only for the rest of our lives.”  

The sincerity in his words hit you like a tidal wave. Suddenly, brutish tears blurred your vision, and before you knew it, the spoon clattered onto the table as you stood up. Sukuna blinked in surprise as you stumbled blindly around the table and threw yourself into his arms.  

His chair scraped back as he stood to catch you, his arms wrapping tightly around your trembling form. “Whoa, hey.” he murmured, sounding a little panicked. “What’s this? Are you crying on me now?”  

“You’re such an idiot, you’re such an idiot!” you sniffled against his shoulder, voice thick with emotion. “But I love you so much.”  

He froze for half a second before laughing, warm and genuine. “Yeah? Well, I love you too, idiot.”  

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your tears still clinging to your lashes. His grin was crooked, soft in a way that made your chest ache with affection. He takes in the look of you, with that devoted haze that could only be once in a lifetime. 

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now, huh?” he teased, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb.  

“Yeah, yeah.” you whispered, smiling through your tears. “For the rest of our lives.”  

Sukuna grinned, pulling you back into a hug. “That’s good to hear.” he murmured against your hair. “Cause you know that’s exactly what I want, hm?”  

In that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and the future uncertain, you felt the tears well away and calm take over you. With this love, this warmth, this man — somehow everything just felt less frightening. And it made you feel so lucky. 

So goddamn lucky to live, to have this love. This life. Because you knew that no matter how messy things got, you’d be okay as long as you had each other. As long as you had Sukuna, you’d be alright.

══════════════════

THE MORNING WAS RATHER UNEVENTFUL. Well, that was until the blue hour huddled through the capricious skies. The knock at Sukuna’s door was heavy and deliberate, filled with the weight of everything unresolved. 

You stiffened instantly, your heart thudding against your ribs as you glanced toward the window. Your breath caught when you saw them—your parents standing stiffly on the porch, your father’s expression hard and unreadable, your mother fidgeting with the strap of her purse.  

“It’s them, my love.” you whispered, stepping back as a lump formed in your throat.  

Sukuna, drying a dish at the sink, glanced up and set the towel down with calm purpose.  “Your parents?” he asked, his tone neutral.  

You nodded, unable to form words. “I don’t want to see them, not right now.” you muttered finally, wrapping your arms around yourself.  

Sukuna’s sharp eyes softened as he walked toward you. He placed a warm hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “You don’t have to, babe.” he said quietly.  

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived as he made his way to the door.  “What are you doing?” you asked in a panic.  

He glanced back at you, a small, reassuring grin tugging at his lips. “Gonna talk to them.”  

“Ryomen Sukuna—”  

“Hey, hey. Just trust me, okay?” he said gently, giving you a tender gaze. “I’ve got this.”  

Before you could stop him, he opened the door and stepped outside, closing it softly behind him. Your heart raced as you crept toward the window, peeking through the curtain.

Your parents stood rigidly on the porch, their expressions guarded but uncertain. Sukuna stood tall, almost so proud, with his broad-shouldered and unflinching, meeting their gazes with calm confidence.  

“I see you’ve come.” he greeted politely, his usual sharp edge tempered by something respectful but firm.  

“Where is our daughter?” your father demanded, his voice gruff and commanding.  

“She’s inside my house.” Sukuna said evenly. “But she doesn’t want to see you right now.”  

Your mother’s face faltered. “We just want to talk to her.”  

Sukuna nodded, understanding in his expression. “I get that, mam. I really do.” he said calmly, “But I also get why she’s upset. I know I’m not exactly the kind of guy parents dream of for their kid. I know that much. ”  

Your father’s frown deepened, but Sukuna stood his ground. 

“I’m not here to make excuses for myself.” Sukuna continued, his voice steady. “I’ve been in fights, well I used to. I’ve stopped, ever since me and her dated. But I know that I’ve got a reputation, and I know how that looks to you. But I need you to know this—” he took a deep breath, his voice unwavering, “I love your daughter. And only her.”  

Your mother’s lips parted in surprise, but Sukuna wasn’t finished.  

“She might not move back home with you and that’s her choice, I respect that from her.” he said, glancing between them. “But I want you to know that she’s safe with me. I’ll take care of her."

He only continues when they didn't speak. "I’ll make sure she’s never hungry, never sick, and that she always has a roof over her head. I’ve got a job, and it pays well enough for a graduating high school student. And my parents wouldn’t mind having her here either.”  

Your parents were stunned, the weight of his words settling over them. Even from behind the window, you could see the cracks forming in their defenses.  Sukuna’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. 

“I hope that clears things up, mam, sir.” he said simply. “I love your daughter. I really do. I hope you see that. I hope you see that I’ll always live and breathe for her.”  

Silence stretched between them. Your father cleared his throat, clearly at a loss for words. Your mother’s eyes glistened, though she remained quiet.  Sukuna dipped his head respectfully at them. He knows they would need time to process all that. 

“Thank you for coming, really.” he said gently. “You can come see her anytime if she’s ready. But for now, let’s respect what she needs. Please.”  

With that, he turned and walked back inside, closing the door behind him.  You stood frozen, tears welling up in your weary eyes as Sukuna leaned casually against the doorframe, his expression unreadable.

He takes a soft breath before he looks back at you, almost too shyly. Almost like he wants to hide away as the warm scarlet of his eyes echoed on his cheeks too. “You heard all that, huh?” he asked, voice low but amused.  

“You’re unbelievable, my love.” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.  

His lips quivered into a lopsided grin. “In a good way, I hope.”  

Without thinking, you surged forward, throwing your arms around him and holding him tightly. Sukuna hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, his warmth enveloping you completely.  

“I love you. So so much.” you murmured into his shoulder, your voice breaking.  

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Yeah? Well, I love you too. Always.”  

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, which softened in a way they rarely did. You don’t think you’ve ever felt love like this, not even before when you had crushes. Or not even when you fell in love for the first time. In a way, Sukuna had made his own category in your heart, in your soul. He was irreplaceable, he always will be.

“Thank you, for being in my life. I don’t know how I’d be without you.” you whispered, the weight of everything he’d done settling over you.  

He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t thank me, babe.” he said with a grin. “This is just what you do when you love someone, right?”  

You hummed back at him. You felt his hands drift through your hair, slowly letting the strands slip through his fingers in a careful caress. He kisses your temple, meeting your eyes. Your chest ached, full to the brim with affection for the boy who had always stood by you, fierce and unyielding.  

“Guess we’re stuck with each other, aren’t we?” you said softly.  

“Damn right, babe.” he teased, pulling you back into his arms. “Forever or nothing.”  

══════════════════

epilogue

This year’s championship dinner was already wild, perhaps even wilder than the last year. Well, that was to be expected, especially with Captain Ryomen Sukuna negotiating the afterparty budget with the university himself — and considering he was bringing in the best result the university ever had in sports, why wouldn’t he get the big afterparty budget?

There was so much of the abundant hotpot bubbling at every table, plate after plate stacked high as if it's attempting to reach heaven, and the varsity volleyball team loud with post-victory energy.

Ryomen Sukuna, however, was in his own world, calmly devouring hotpot like the unbothered menace he was, chopsticks working methodically through noodles. And that you expected. Your boyfriend was exhausted.

You, meanwhile, had everyone's full attention as you dramatically told the story. 

“So there I was, the most beautiful person alive.” you said, waving your chopsticks like a microphone. “I was just standing in Sukuna’s living room, freaking out because my parents showed up. And I told Sukuna I didn’t want to see them. What does this guy do?”

You pointed dramatically at him and he didn't even look up. “He walks outside, so brave with his barefoot, like some rom-com protagonist, and tells my dad—who, by the way, looks like he grills steaks with his bare hands sort of energy—”  

“Big dad energy, got it, got it.” Vice Captain Gojo Satoru interjected, already wheezing.  

“—‘I love your daughter, and I’ll always live for her!’” you said, attempting to mimic your Sukuna’s gruff tone.  

Setter Geto Suguru slapped the table, howling. “Nah, stop it. THE Captain Ryomen Sukuna? Mister ‘I’ll spike a volleyball through your face if you breathe wrong?’ Are you sure?”  

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “He even told them he had a job that already pays well and that his parents wouldn’t mind me moving in  with them!”  

Middle Blocker Nanami Kento choked on his drink, covering his mouth with a fist. “There’s no way this is real. There’s….There’s just really no way we’re talking about the same guy, senpai.”  

Fellow Middle Blocker Fushiguro Megumi blinked, his brain visibly glitching. “The same Sukuna who made us do suicide drives on the balls he spikes because Yuuji said practice was ‘lowkey chill’?”  

“Yes! I'm very serious about how this happened, guys!” you grinned.  

Libero Itadori Yuuji was face down on the table, banging his fist. He was trying not to laugh, but all the same failing with great effort. “I can’t breathe! I’m so….I’m so sorry, senpai! This… this is ridiculous! Captain gave a Ted Talk on responsible boyfriend duties?”  

“And he ended it with, ‘I hope that clears things up.’ Like he was closing a business meeting!” you said, nearly wheezing. “I really wish our phones today were there for recording. I would have avoided the trouble of not being believed!”

Suguru wiped tears from his eyes. “Bro, this is it. This is damn good soup. Amazing poetry. We gotta frame this, oh my god.”  

“I’m making it our new team motto, guys!” Satoru declared between gasps. “Right before every match—‘I LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER AND I’LL ALWAYS LIVE FOR HER!’”  

Megumi groaned loudly, head in his hands. “This is my nightmare. I should have joined another team, this is horrible.”  

Meanwhile, Captain Ryomen Sukuna hadn’t flinched once, calmly stirring his hotpot like this was all beneath him. He slurped some noodles, glanced up, and deadpanned, “You’re all idiots.”  

“That’s Mr. Idiot to you, Captain.” Satoru quipped.  

Suguru grinned wickedly. “We’re getting matching shirts. I think we still have an afterparty budget, no? It would be great practice shirts! The tagline in bold has to be like ‘Property of the Captain: Loves Someone’s Daughter, Lives for Her.’”  

“Shut the hell up, Geto. You’re so annoying!” Sukuna muttered, jabbing at the hotpot with his chopsticks.  

“C’mon, my love. This is really great, no?” you teased sweetly.  

His chopsticks froze mid-air. Slowly, he turned his head, glaring at you with the heat of a thousand serves.  “You’re walking home later.” he deadpanned.  

“Don’t worry, senpai!” Satoru cackled, looking at Sukuna and winked. “I’ll give you a ride—to help out my love here!”  

The entire table exploded into chaos as Sukuna sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He was already regretting even arranging the afterparty. And most of all, letting all of you be friends and letting them rub off even more sly behaviour to you.  

“You’re all getting extra laps tomorrow. And you’ll have to run faster! Or you’ll get benched for the next practice match with Kyoto!” he grumbled, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips.  

The current threat caused the entire team scattered about in the restaurant in various tables to erupt in groans. At the very least no one was looking at them weird, the whole restaurant was rented. But the chaos ensued, people standing up and arguing that practice should be cancelled tomorrow since you just won. 

Everything was practically in shambles, with Yuuji sliding halfway off his chair, still gasping for breath, still laughing. He was the only one still, besides Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Of course that’s to be expected. Itadori Yuuji seemed to be certainly not human with his records.

“Bro, Captain.” he wheezed, pointing shakily at Sukuna, still laughing. “The mental image of you standing there, barefoot, saying ‘I love your daughter and I’ll live for her’— I’m done. I’m tapping out. It’s so corny."

“Straight to the history books, Cap!” Suguru added, wiping tears from his eyes. “Future captains need to hear this legend. Seriously.”  

“Coach is gonna cry laughing when he hears about this. I can’t believe he missed this because of a phone call.” Satoru snickered. “Imagine the look on his face when we put it on our team banner.”

He stood, mimicking a grand reveal. “‘National University Varsity Volleyball Champions! Their motto? We Love Your Daughter and We’ll Live For Her!’”  

“You know what…..Let’s just not have shame, at this point. Put it on the team jackets, on the tumblers. On the balls. Just put it on there. Everything!” Megumi groaned, his head in his hands. Nanami Kento pours him a cup of sake. “Might as well go all the way.”  

“Shut it, Fushiguro.” Sukuna muttered darkly, stabbing a piece of tofu as though it owed him money. “None of you are funny.”  

“Oh, but my love, we are!” Satoru teased, leaning in with a mischievous grin.  

Sukuna slammed his chopsticks down with a loud clack. “I don’t care what the coach says tomorrow. We have practice tomorrow. Three hours. No breaks.”  

The table collectively gasped. 

You snickered under your cup of sake.

Sukuna remains unfazed about it all.

“Captain, please don't do this!” Yuuji begged suddenly, his bright eyes widened. “I have weak joints!”  

“You’re built like a tank, and you were laughing about this like you don’t have an issue with it. So stand proud, Itadori.” Sukuna deadpanned, continuing to eat hotpot. “Suck it up.”  

“You know this is just making it worse, right?” you whispered to him, grinning.  

He gave you a flat look. “You’re definitely walking home.”  

“I’ll take you home, senpai—” Satoru happily chirped.  

Sukuna’s eye twitched. “Shut up before I spike your face, Gojo.”  

Nanami Kento, who had been quietly sipping his sake throughout the madness, finally sighed. “Honestly, I think it’s romantic.” he said with a shrug.  

Everyone froze, stunned.

You almost choked on your next cup of sake.

“Nanami Kento.” Suguru said slowly, snickering as he drank. “Did you just say something sappy?”  

“I’ve had a long day, okay? I’m crashing out, let me be.” Nanami muttered, looking vaguely ashamed. Just as Fushiguro had earlier. Fushiguro Megumi refills his senpai’s cup. “And the booze isn’t helping. God damn it.”

The laughter and the badgering started all over again, louder and more chaotic than before. Sukuna, despite his threats, couldn’t entirely hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. Leaning toward you, he muttered under his breath. You turned your heat at him, meeting his warm eyes.

“If they don’t shut up, I’m taking this hotpot home and eating it alone.”  

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “It’s okay, my love. You’ll live for me, right?”  

He groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”  

“Never, lover boy.” you grinned.  

He could only sigh as you leaned against him, happily looking at everyone being passionate in arguing against practice tomorrow once again. You giggled as you started to talk with them again. And in that rowdy, absurd, chaotic moment surrounded by chaos, Ryomen Sukuna realized—he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

This is life worth living, after all.

[anticipatedexhale]

Can you do the arcane characters with a s/o who is obsessed with their looks and how they’re perceived to others?

Hellooo <3 ofc I can!!

Just a disclaimer u are absolutely gorgeous and wonderful just the way you are! Inside and out! Don't let fake standards and false words put by society get to you please, love yourself just the way u are because although it's the hardest type of love to achieve it's also the most fulfilling<33

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

Wish I could be like you, but I’m not that cool.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, sevika

☆ ◞ summary: when you care too much it starts to backfire on you, when you think you lost everything they are right beside you.

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, tons of bad talk about ones body and self, insecurities that may be triggering you some so please be careful while reading.

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had always been confident—he knew who he was, what he stood for, and never really cared much about what others thought of him. So when he started noticing how much you worried about your looks and how people perceived you, it caught him off guard.

At first, he thought it was just normal self-care. Everyone liked to look good, right? But then he started picking up on the little things.

The way you’d constantly check your reflection in any shiny surface you passed. The way you’d subtly adjust your outfit over and over, as if trying to perfect it. How you’d bite your lip and glance around nervously when someone so much as whispered near you, convinced it was about you.

And when you two were out together? Forget about it. You agonized over every detail—your hair, your posture, your expressions. Always making sure you were just right.

Jayce hated seeing you stress over it.

One evening, you were getting ready for an event, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the fiftieth time, inspecting yourself in the mirror with a deep frown.

"Does this look okay?" you asked for the third time in ten minutes. "Maybe I should change. Do you think people will—"

Jayce sighed and gently grabbed your hands, pulling you away from the mirror.

“Babe,” he said softly, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why does it matter so much what other people think?”

You hesitated, looking down. “I just… I don’t want to embarrass you. Or myself. People talk, Jayce.”

His expression softened. “I don’t give a damn what people say. And you shouldn’t either.”

You sighed, but he wasn’t done. He cupped your face, tilting it up so you had to look at him.

“You’re already perfect,” he murmured. “I don’t care what you’re wearing, how your hair looks, or what people think. They don’t see what I see.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “…And what do you see?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Someone incredible. Someone who makes me laugh, who makes me proud every damn day. Someone I’d still be crazy about even if you walked into that party wearing mismatched shoes and a potato sack.”

You let out a startled laugh, rolling your eyes. “A potato sack?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yep. You’d still be the best-looking person in the room.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “…You really don’t care?”

“Not one bit,” he promised. “I just want you to be happy. Not stressing over what a bunch of nobodies think.”

His words hit deep. And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed them.

Maybe—just maybe—you didn’t need everyone else’s approval.

Maybe Jayce’s was enough.

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

Mel Medarda.

Mel had always been surrounded by high society, where appearances were more than just about beauty—they were about power, influence, and command. She’d been taught from a young age how to control the room with a well-placed smile, a confident stance, and the right attire. But while she had mastered the art of fitting into the expectations of others, she’d never let them control her.

When she first noticed your obsession with your appearance—how you would fret over the smallest detail, constantly worry about what others thought, and always seek validation from the people around you—she didn’t rush to correct you. Instead, she observed, trying to understand why it mattered so much to you.

One evening, you were preparing for another event, this time a gala held by Piltover’s elite. You stood in front of the mirror, your eyes darting between your reflection and the wardrobe full of options, your fingers pulling at your hair, your expression one of deep dissatisfaction.

“Mel,” you said, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t think I’m ready for this. I’m just not—”

She stepped into the room with the effortless grace she was known for, her gaze soft yet intense as she approached you. “You’re just not what?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know… I feel like I don’t belong here,” you confessed, your hands wringing together. “I keep thinking about what people will say when they see me. What if they don’t think I’m… enough?”

Mel’s brow furrowed as she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, turning you to face her fully. “Let me ask you something,” she began, her tone serious but tender. “Why do you care so much about what they think?”

You looked down, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Because if I don’t look a certain way, if I’m not perfect, I feel like I won’t matter.”

Mel took a deep breath, stepping closer to you, her hands gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at her. Her gaze softened as she studied you for a moment, her fingers brushing the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “You are already more than enough. I’ve seen you, not just with your looks, but with your heart, your intelligence, your strength.” She smiled softly. “You think people are only judging you based on how you look, but the truth is, they want to see you. They want to know you—the person who carries themselves with such grace and confidence, the one who makes them wonder how they missed such brilliance.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words sank in.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to fit into others' expectations. To be what people wanted me to be,” Mel continued, her eyes locking with yours, unwavering. “But I realized that I will never be happy that way. And neither will you. So stop letting your worth be defined by others. You have everything you need inside of you already.”

You blinked, the warmth of her words washing over you. “But… I still feel like I’m not enough sometimes.”

Mel gently cupped your face, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Then let me remind you every day how much you mean to me. You’re perfect just as you are.”

You swallowed, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

With a soft chuckle, Mel pulled back slightly. “Good. Now let’s go out there, and when they look at you, let them see the amazing person I see.”

And as she helped you get dressed, there was a quiet understanding between you two. Mel never pressured you to be anyone else, but she also knew how to help you realize that you had more power than you gave yourself credit for.

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

Viktor.

Viktor’s perspective on beauty had always been one of deep pragmatism. His entire life had been about improving, evolving, and focusing on the mind’s capacity to achieve, while the world outside often seemed obsessed with superficial qualities. He’d never cared much for what others thought of him or how he looked. But when it came to you, it was different.

He’d noticed, more and more, how often you seemed preoccupied with your appearance. You would spend hours before a mirror, adjusting your clothes or making sure every strand of hair was in place, always worried about what others might think. Sometimes, even after all the effort, there was a quiet dissatisfaction in your expression, and it made him wonder how much you truly believed in yourself.

One evening, after a long day of work, Viktor arrived home to find you sitting on the couch, still in your outfit from earlier. Your gaze was fixed on your phone screen, scrolling through images of other people’s lives, comparing your appearance to theirs. Your posture was tense, your brows furrowed in frustration.

Viktor quietly approached, his voice soft yet steady as he spoke your name. “You’re still awake? What’s going on, love?”

You glanced up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking. About how everyone seems to have it all figured out. How they look perfect, and I’m… well, I don’t know.” You trailed off, your gaze dropping back to your phone.

Viktor, noticing the sharp contrast between your usual confident self and the person sitting before him, knelt beside the couch, taking your hand gently in his. His tone was patient, understanding, but there was a certain firmness that made you look up at him.

“Your worth has never been determined by someone else’s perception of you,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “You’ve spent so much time trying to please others, trying to fit a mold you never asked for. But I need you to understand something, love…”

You looked at him, unsure, waiting for him to continue.

“You are far more than just the sum of your physical appearance or the validation of others,” Viktor continued, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You are a person of substance, of intellect, of heart. And that’s what I fell in love with. Not the way you look, but who you are.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump in your throat. Viktor’s gaze softened as he reached for your hand, gently lifting it to his lips. “And you don’t need to change for anyone. Not for me, not for anyone.”

There was silence between you, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside. His words settled in your chest, easing the tension that had built up over the past few hours.

“I just feel like I’m constantly chasing something I can never achieve,” you admitted quietly. “Trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone else expects.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened with concern, but he smiled gently. “What if I told you that the most perfect version of yourself is already here? Right now, in this moment? That you are more than enough, as you are?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of years of wisdom, of someone who had seen the world through a lens of endless improvement. Slowly, you found yourself leaning into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace and the security of his steady presence.

“I’m still learning, Viktor,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. “Learning to accept myself.”

“And I’ll be here,” he murmured, his voice warm and unwavering. “Every step of the way. To remind you that you’re perfect, not because of how you look, but because of who you are.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink deep into your soul. In that moment, with Viktor by your side, you realized that the person you needed to please the most was yourself. And with him, you finally understood that your worth was never tied to anyone’s expectations—but rather, to the person you were, inside and out.

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

Caitlyn kiramman.

Caitlyn was never one to place much value on appearances. Sure, she knew the importance of looking presentable, especially in her position, but she also understood that true beauty went beyond what the eye could see. For Caitlyn, what truly mattered were values, intellect, and integrity. But when she noticed you often fretting over your appearance, constantly adjusting your outfit, and seeking validation from others, it tugged at her heart. She could tell you weren’t feeling your best, but didn’t know how to reach you—until one quiet evening.

After a long day at work, Caitlyn came home to find you in front of the mirror once again, changing clothes, adjusting your makeup, and constantly re-evaluating your reflection. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching you with a concerned expression.

You didn’t even notice her at first, your mind lost in the whirlwind of doubts that always seemed to surface when you weren’t in her company. “I don’t know, Cait. What if I’m not enough?” you muttered under your breath, pulling at the collar of your shirt as if it could make you feel better. “What if they don’t think I’m… beautiful enough?”

Caitlyn stepped into the room quietly, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you think that?”

You jumped, not expecting her to be standing so close. “Oh… I didn’t hear you.” You gave a weak smile, clearly still upset.

“Babe, what’s going on? You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. She stepped closer and reached for your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “What are you looking for?”

You hesitated, glancing at your reflection before turning to face her. “I just… I feel like people judge me all the time. What if they don’t like how I look? What if I’m too much for them? Or not enough?”

Caitlyn’s expression softened with a mix of empathy and concern. She could feel how deeply you were struggling, and though she didn’t share your worries about appearances, she understood the burden of those feelings. She gently cupped your face in her hands, tilting your chin so your eyes met hers.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice low but confident. “You are enough. Right now, in this moment, you’re more than enough.”

You blinked, her words striking a chord deep inside. “But what if people think I’m…”

She cut you off gently. “You are beautiful, but more than that, you’re incredible. You make a difference. You’re kind, intelligent, and strong. No outfit or hairstyle is going to change that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words began to sink in. “But what if I’m not… what people expect?”

Caitlyn smiled, her hands gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t need to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. I fell in love with you for who you are, not because of how you look. And I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now, just by being yourself.”

Her sincerity made your heart swell, and despite your lingering doubts, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Caitlyn didn’t care about the opinions of others; she cared about you—and that was all that mattered.

“I guess I’ve been so focused on trying to be perfect that I forgot how to just be me,” you admitted softly.

Caitlyn chuckled, her thumbs gently rubbing circles on your cheeks. “And I’ll remind you every day that you don’t need to be perfect for anyone. You’re perfect for me.”

You leaned into her touch, a sense of comfort settling in your chest. “Thank you, Cait. I really needed to hear that.”

She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anytime. And just so you know, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out. You don’t have to change a thing.”

In that moment, you realized that your true beauty didn’t lie in how others saw you, but in how Caitlyn saw you—and how you saw yourself when you let go of the expectations that had once held you back.

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

Vi.

Vi had always been more about strength and character than appearances. She had a no-nonsense attitude and didn’t care much for superficial things. Whether in a fight or just hanging out, she preferred to focus on what truly mattered—what was inside a person. So when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, constantly tweaking your outfit or worrying about how others perceived you, it threw her off. She couldn’t quite understand why you’d feel like you weren’t enough when to her, you were already perfect just as you were.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, Vi returned home to find you sitting on the couch, eyes glued to your phone, flipping through social media. You’d been quiet all evening, and she could tell something was bothering you. As she approached, she noticed you adjusting your outfit for the fourth time, pulling at the hem of your shirt, checking the mirror again.

Vi raised an eyebrow, concern flashing across her face. “You good, babe? You seem a little… distracted.”

You didn’t look up, still preoccupied with your reflection. “I don’t know. I just feel like people always judge me. I mean, look at them, Vi,” you said, showing her your phone screen, where a bunch of influencers and well-dressed people filled the screen. “Why can’t I look like that? I don’t know… I just feel like I’m never enough, no matter what I do.”

Vi looked at the screen for a moment before setting it down gently, stepping closer to you. “Hey, look at me,” she said, her voice a little more serious now. “I don’t get it. You’ve got all this beauty inside and out, and you’re worried about some picture on a screen?”

You gave a little laugh, but it was hollow. “It’s not just a picture, Vi. People always notice what I wear, what I look like. I feel like I’m always trying to fit into something I’m not.”

Vi tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with that intense, protective gaze of hers. “You don’t need to fit into any mold, babe. You’re not some... trend to follow. You’re you. And trust me, that’s more than enough.”

You looked away, unsure. "But people don't see that. They only care about the surface."

Vi sighed, her expression softening as she sat next to you. She took your hand in hers, her grip strong but comforting. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see a person who's been through a lot, someone who doesn't need to put on a mask to be loved. Someone who's real. And that's what makes you so amazing. I don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks. And I know you don't need to change for anyone."

You let out a breath, trying to hold back the feelings bubbling up inside. Vi, with her blunt honesty and genuine affection, had a way of cutting through the noise, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe you weren’t as lost as you thought.

Vi leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “You know I love you for exactly who you are, right? And if you’re worried about how others see you, then maybe you should let them see the real you. Because that’s who I love. The real you. Not some version of you trying to impress everyone else.”

You could feel her words sinking in, easing the pressure you hadn’t even realized had been building. You felt a sense of calm begin to wash over you as Vi’s embrace tightened, holding you close.

"I know I'm tough and rough around the edges," she whispered, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "but you don’t need to be anything other than what makes you happy. And if that means wearing your favorite old shirt or going makeup-free, I’m still gonna think you’re the best thing in the world."

A small laugh escaped your lips, and you found yourself relaxing into her warmth. “Thanks, Vi. I needed that.”

Vi grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Anytime, babe. Just remember: you’re perfect to me, just the way you are.”

In that moment, surrounded by her love and honesty, you realized that the only opinion that truly mattered was the one that came from within—and with Vi, you were finally starting to believe it.

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

Jinx.

Jinx was many things—chaotic, unpredictable, and loud—but when it came to you, she was surprisingly sensitive. Her world had always been in a constant state of madness, but there was something calming about being with you. You were her rock, her one constant in the storm. That’s why it bothered her so much when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, always fidgeting with your clothes, your hair, or your makeup, constantly worried about how others saw you.

One evening, after a particularly wild day of mayhem (courtesy of Jinx, of course), you sat on the couch, staring at your phone screen. Your brows were furrowed, your thumb scrolling through social media, comparing yourself to others. Jinx had been watching you for a while, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"Hey, you!" she suddenly called out, practically throwing herself onto the couch next to you, her usual enthusiasm filling the room.

You jumped a little, distracted. “Oh, hey, Jinx. What’s up?” You didn’t look up from your phone, still fixated on the images that seemed to be making you feel worse with every swipe.

Jinx tilted her head, studying your face closely. Her blue hair bounced as she moved, and her expression softened just a little. “You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said, a hint of concern lacing her voice. “Why do you keep looking at that stuff?”

You sighed, showing her your phone. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m always trying to keep up with everyone else, you know? They always look so… perfect. I feel like I don’t measure up.”

Jinx blinked, her usual manic energy quieting for a moment as she processed your words. "What do you mean, perfect?" she asked, her voice almost childlike in its confusion. “Perfect’s boring, though! I mean, sure, it’s fun to be perfectly insane, but... you’re way cooler than perfect! Who needs to be that?”

You looked at her, a little unsure. “I just… I don’t know, Jinx. I feel like I’m always trying to be someone I’m not, trying to look like everyone else. But nothing ever feels good enough.”

Jinx leaned back dramatically, her arms spread wide. “You wanna know something? I don’t think you need to look like anyone else, ever!” she said, her eyes wide and full of her usual chaotic energy. “You’re already amazing the way you are, and I don’t get why you keep looking at that stuff. I mean, look at me—no one can look like me and that’s what makes me awesome! So you just need to be you, okay?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her randomness, even as a weight still sat heavy in your chest. Jinx smiled brightly, completely oblivious to the way her words were beginning to work their magic. “I know you think you gotta be something you’re not, but I love you just as you are. You’re like… the best thing ever! You don’t need to change anything to impress anyone, especially not me.”

She leaned forward then, her hands clasping yours tightly. Her wild eyes softened as she looked at you with an intensity that was rare for her. “I love you, okay? You—with all the stuff you think isn’t perfect. I don’t need a perfect you. I need you, the one with all the quirks and the weird little things that make you you!”

You blinked, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at her words. Jinx had a way of making things seem so much lighter, her chaotic nature always breaking through the heaviness of your own doubts. Her laugh was like music, and the more she spoke, the more you felt the pressure you had been putting on yourself start to lift.

“Jinx,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “Thank you. I think I just needed to hear it from you. I’ve been so focused on trying to change, I forgot what made me… me.”

“Exactly!” Jinx exclaimed, throwing her hands up like she had just made the greatest revelation in the world. “Just be you, and if anyone else doesn’t get it, then they’re the ones who are messed up! You’re freaking awesome, and I’m lucky to have you.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you with surprising gentleness. "Don’t ever try to be anything other than you again, okay?" she whispered into your ear. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort in the chaos that only Jinx could provide. With her by your side, maybe, just maybe, you could start to let go of the expectations that others had placed on you—and just embrace the person you were.

And with that, Jinx’s chaotic energy became the balm you didn’t know you needed, reminding you that in this world of uncertainty, the most important thing was being true to yourself.

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

Ekko.

Ekko had always been a little different. The way he saw the world wasn’t about appearances or surface-level stuff—it was about people, their hearts, and their actions. It wasn’t lost on him that you seemed to care a lot about how others perceived you, constantly stressing over what to wear, how to look, or whether you were keeping up with the trends. At first, he didn’t really understand it. Why would you care what other people thought when you were already so incredible in his eyes?

One evening, after working on his latest invention in the workshop, Ekko was looking forward to spending some quiet time with you. He’d been busy with the repairs and inventions for the underground, but when he finally entered the room, he immediately noticed something different about you. You were sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, occasionally staring at the mirror, then back at the pages. The quiet tension in the air told him something was off.

He walked up to you and gently sat down next to you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. "You seem… distracted."

You looked up, surprised to see him. You hadn’t realized you were being so obvious about your self-doubt. "Oh, I’m fine," you lied, trying to smile. "Just… you know, trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow. Something that’ll make me look good enough for the crowd, y’know?"

Ekko frowned slightly. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your fingers were nervously flipping through pages. He didn’t need to be a genius to see that something was bothering you.

He leaned back against the couch, giving you a moment to breathe before speaking up again. “What crowd? I thought you were more about being yourself, not some image you’ve got to keep up with.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, well… sometimes it’s hard. I mean, look at everyone else, Ekko. They’re all perfect—well-dressed, confident, always looking like they’ve got it all figured out. I just… I don’t know. I want to feel good about myself, but it feels like I’m always falling short.”

Ekko let out a small sigh. He had seen you struggle with this before, but hearing it out loud always tugged at his heart. He knew what it was like to feel like you didn’t measure up, especially in a world that made it easy to compare yourself to everyone around you. But to him, you were already more than enough.

"You don’t need to be like anyone else, you know that, right?" Ekko said, his voice calm yet serious. "I get it, everyone around here seems to care about appearances or ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ but that’s not what makes someone special. You’re already incredible. The real you—not some idealized version of yourself—is what I love."

He took your hand, gently guiding you to face him. "It’s not about looking like someone else. It’s about being you. And when you’re you, that’s when you shine the brightest. You’re unique, and that’s what makes you stand out. Not some perfect look or what other people think."

You felt a lump form in your throat, his words piercing through the insecurities that had been building inside. Ekko was always so patient with you, always grounding you when the chaos of the world started to feel too heavy. His belief in you, in who you were as a person, was unwavering.

"Ekko, I’m just so used to trying to fit in," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like everyone expects me to be perfect, to look a certain way."

Ekko shook his head, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and tender. "You don’t need to fit into anyone’s box. You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters. You’ve got something they don’t—your heart, your mind, your creativity. You’ve always had it, and I see it every single day."

He stood up, giving you a playful grin. "You know what’s really cool about you? You can pull off anything—whether it’s a fancy outfit or a worn-out hoodie. You make it look good because it’s you. And honestly, that’s way more impressive than anything I’ve ever seen."

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little of the weight lifting off your shoulders as you finally met his eyes. “You really think that?”

Ekko nodded, his eyes full of sincerity. "More than anything. I’m proud of you, just the way you are. You don’t need anyone’s approval, especially not when you’ve already got mine."

You stood up to face him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in. There was no need to change for the world. You had Ekko, and that was more than enough to make you feel seen and loved.

"I love you, you know that?" you whispered.

Ekko grinned, his eyes lighting up as he pulled you into a hug. "I love you too, more than you’ll ever know."

In his arms, you felt safe—safe to be yourself, flaws and all. Maybe it wasn’t about perfection after all. Maybe it was about finding the people who truly saw you, the real you, and loving you for exactly who you were.

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

Sevika.

The quiet buzz of the dimly lit workshop was disrupted by a small, sudden sigh. Sevika paused, her fingers lightly gripping the wrench she was working with as she looked over at you. You were at the far corner of the room, your attention focused on the full-length mirror. Your gaze was distant, eyes scanning every inch of yourself, your expression more tense than usual.

She could see the way your shoulders tensed, the slight frown on your lips, and she knew that look all too well. It was the look of someone caught in the trap of self-doubt, obsessing over things that didn't truly matter. Sevika, who always carried herself with quiet confidence, couldn't help but notice how much you seemed to care about things that didn’t define your worth—things like appearance, status, and the opinions of others.

Without saying a word, Sevika set her tools down and walked toward you, her large frame cutting through the space with the same assured steps she always had. There was something about your current mood that tugged at her, an instinct to take care of you when she saw you struggling.

She came up behind you, leaning her back against the wall and crossing her arms, just watching. There was no rush to intervene. Sevika had learned that sometimes, you needed time to process things on your own before anyone could help.

After a moment, you spoke without turning to face her. "Do you think they’d like me more if I looked different? I mean… everyone seems to have something special about them. What if I’m just… not good enough?"

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. Sevika stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Hey," she said, her hand resting on your shoulder, urging you to meet her eyes. "You’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re not here to be ‘liked’ by anyone else but yourself."

You swallowed, still unable to fully meet her gaze. "I don’t know, Sevika. I just—sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I can’t live up to… to what they expect, to what everyone else has. I don’t know how to be comfortable with myself."

Sevika’s eyes softened, her hand gently turning your chin so that you finally faced her. "You don’t need to worry about them. You don’t need to worry about being perfect, because there’s no such thing. No one is perfect—not even the ones who pretend they are."

Her voice was steady, filled with that unwavering confidence that made her so impossible to ignore. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that’s not something that comes from looking a certain way. It comes from what you’ve been through, how you keep going despite everything. That’s what I admire about you. Not how you look, but the person you are."

Your breath caught, the frustration in your chest softening with her words. For a moment, you let yourself believe her, feeling the weight of your insecurities ease just a little.

"I think you forget sometimes that people who truly care about you… the ones who matter, don’t give a damn about your looks," Sevika continued, her thumb lightly tracing your cheek, her touch gentle yet powerful. "You think I’m here because you’ve got the perfect image? Nah. I’m here because you’ve got heart. You’ve always had it."

A rare, soft smile tugged at her lips as she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "And you think I’d let someone like you get away with being anything less than amazing?"

You chuckled softly, the tension melting away at the sincerity in her words. Sevika’s tough exterior had always been there, but in moments like this, she allowed her softer side to show, especially when it came to you. You could see in her eyes that she didn’t just mean what she was saying—she believed it wholeheartedly.

"Sevika, I—"

She cut you off, her finger lightly tapping your lips. "No more self-doubt. No more comparisons. You’re incredible. Just as you are."

For once, the mirror didn’t seem so important. It wasn’t about how others saw you, but how you saw yourself through her eyes. Sevika may not always say a lot, but in moments like this, her actions spoke volumes. You let yourself lean into her touch, the assurance in her presence becoming your anchor.

She leaned in close, her voice softer now, just for you. "Now, let’s forget about everyone else for a while, yeah? Tonight’s about you, about us. You don’t need to impress anyone but yourself."

And as you let her embrace you, a weight lifted, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

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

Authors note: I really do apologize if this isn't to ur liking my darling or it feels repetitive I just really could not come up with different scenarios dear God I was about to crash out..

[my-castles-crumbling]

jegulus with foster kid - @into-the-jeggyverse 's jegulus bingo - word count: 501

"So?" James asked softly, wrapping his arm around Regulus's waist and pulling him in close. "What do you think?"

Regulus looked slowly around the room and took a long moment to take in the changes they'd made over the past few weeks. They'd painted the previously-white walls a calming light green, added a twin-sized bed with the softest sheets and comforter they could find at the local department store, worked together to build a bookshelf and desk while only breaking out into an argument twice.

The room had been transformed from a bland storage-slash-office space to a child's bedroom.

"I think..." Regulus murmured, gazing at the bed, "I think it needs toys. A teddy, or something?" he asked, looking up at his husband, who smiled softly down at him.

"That's a great idea, love. What if we get one now, and then we let them pick out more when they arrive?" James asked, free hand moving to trace over Regulus's jawline, eyes sparkling with adoration.

"Alright."

Regulus swallowed and looked back into the room again. It had been a huge and terrifying decision to take this step. Never in his life had he ever thought he would want kids. What with his own traumatic upbringing and his lack of confidence with anyone under twenty, the idea still made him feel nauseous. But after the first time he and James had looked after Teddy, Sirius and Remus's son, something surprising and soft had stirred inside him that had taken a while to name. It had been the way he felt, curling up with James and the small three-month-old on their couch. The domesticity, far from scaring Regulus, had made him nearly melt, and looking over to see James beaming down at the pair of him had made him picture them sitting there with their own child.

It took him an entire year after that to bring the idea up to James. But as soon as he did, the other man was ecstatic.

"I want everything with you, Reg," he'd said breathlessly. "But if you don't want this...I don't want anything without you. It's absolutely your decision."

"I...I want this. With you," he'd found himself whispering.

So now they were here. Preparing a room for a foster child set to come stay with them in only 24 hours' time. And Regulus was...he was everything. Scared. Thrilled. Nauseous.

"What if he hates me?" Regulus mumbled as James pulled him into his chest, the warm embrace giving him just an ounce of comfort. "What if I'm a horrible parent?"

"He could never," James whispered into his hair. "And you could never. You're too perfect."

As it turned out, Harry, the tiny five-year old that showed up on their doorstep the next morning, took to Regulus just as quickly as Regulus took to him. And within another year, Regulus found himself sitting on his couch again, curled up with James, Harry in between them.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Is It Infidelity?

Ethan & Mark came up in a generation that wasn’t fond of the idea of them. They combatted adversity to be together through it all after meeting each other in high school. Coming up in a time that wasn’t too kind to gay people, they found solace in one another’s company and through it all fell in love. By that point in time, the world began shifting. Being gay was more common and less frowned upon.

The pair ended up going to college together, getting married, climbing their career ladders, and establishing themselves in their community. Eventually in their early 40s they decided it was time to take the plunge and start a family. They eventually had their little Billy goat and thought this would be the beginning of their next chapter. But as much as they wanted Billy’s new life to be surrounded by love, it presented new challenges that made Ethan & Mark doubt their preparedness and worse…their love for each other.

They got through years of bigotry and hatred, but resentment built between the pair. Eventually they realized they needed to spend time together being more thoughtful and constructive with their communication and began trying to see a couples counselor, but that required help to take care of Billy.

That’s when they met Aaron. A former collegiate football player, Aaron was in pharmacy school trying to pay his way through and looking for relatively long term and stable gigs to allow him a routine to focus on school. Aaron overheard the pair squabbling one time about how to make time to go see the counselor when he had the idea to pitch himself as a potential nanny for Billy.

The two men were taken aback by the strangers act of generosity and they’d be remiss to ignore his archetypical great physique.

They invited him over for drinks at the house to get to know him better and ensure he wasn’t like a murderer or anything outlandish. His story endeared the couple to him even more and they all hit it off, including Billy. That was nearly 2 years ago now.

Ethan & Mark had seemingly worked on their tension, Aaron enjoyed their family unit. A child aged out of the foster care system, the family became a surrogate one to the future pharmacist. All was seemingly at ease once again and Aaron hoped that even when he finished school, he wouldn’t lose them or maybe he selfishly wanted something else that couldn’t be said aloud. Under the surface multiple things were bubbling.

Mark was not happy in their marriage anymore. He still loved Ethan and his son but he wasn’t sure that was enough to keep the marriage alive. They all had built a friendship with Aaron, so Mark thought he’d be the perfect one to confide in about the emergence of such turmoil in his heart.

Mark told Aaron one day about the fallout of love he was facing as Ethan worked a double at the hospital. The confession was a blindside to Aaron, but not for the reason you may think. Aaron loved them all dearly but he began gaining feelings for Ethan somewhere along the way. Could this be his chance to get the man he thought he wanted? No, surely that would ruin the relationships they’ve all built? Right? Almost like word vomit, Aaron released those inside thoughts aloud.

The silence between the two was deafening. The two stared at each other quietly for a few moments before Mark broke down crying. Aaron began inching closer to console his boss and close friend. As he sat close he began tearing up saying “I wish I could help you more in this moment. I love you guys so much and I love Billy he’s like a kid to me too at this point.”

Mark looked up and told the young man, “I’m so sorry that you’re having these feelings for Ethan and now you’re in the middle of our mess. I wish there would just be an easy way to end the sadness.” As the two wiped their tears, they agreed to not divulge anything to Ethan without the other one’s approval. In their respective homes, they both tossed and turned in bed, distraught over the days discoveries or so they thought. The world had other reasons to keep them tossing and turning. Aiming to add balance to their situation, the world had a solution and needed their souls to accomplish it.

A universal force aimed to add balance, ripping their souls from their bodies and placing them in each others corporal forms. When the switch was done, the two finally fell into sleep.

Mark woke up peacefully with no blaring crying from Billy. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened lately. Trusting muscle memory he made his way to the restroom eyes closed, bumping into a few things he didn’t recognize but also didn’t invest too much thought into. He fumbled into the restroom feeling a bit chilly, odd considering he went to sleep in a long sleeve pj top.

Oblivious to the situation, Mark’s new physique stood in a doorframe it did many times before unaware of its new operator. As Mark moved to drop his pants to pee, he wrapped his now muscled hand around an unfamiliar thick morning wood. The size difference forced his eyes to finally open as he looked down gasping from the foreign sight below him. Gone was his long sleeve, replaced by mounds and mounds of sexy rippling muscle. Pecs like mountains with sharply pointed nipples. Ridges of cobblestone abs leading towards a v-line that introduced a thick, dark, rod below, insanely larger that the one he’d used for decades.

Instead of beginning to pee, he motioned over to the mirror in the restroom with pants still down. In the reflection there stood a nearly nude Aaron. Instinct took over as his new hand almost began jerking back and forth comfortably on his new thick pole. Speeding up as he involuntarily began moaning then grunting. As his pace picked up he wasn’t used to the sheer force needed to keep this body satisfied and while stacked with muscle the lack of preparedness led to him bracing himself against a nearby wall.

Meanwhile, Marks’ new phone sat buzzing at the bedside of the bed. Across the city, Aaron panicked calling Mark after realizing the new situation he found himself in, literally. He panic called several times in a row unaware the Ethan entered the room behind him. Slipping his hands around Aaron’s waist, Ethan pulled him in. The shocked new inhabitant of his husband’s body turned around shocked at the pull, turning around to figure out what’s happening. As he turned his head, Ethan dominantly went in for a kiss. Unbeknownst to Ethan, Aaron initially panicked and moved to resist the kiss before melting into the moment.

He couldn’t resist. If this was a dream, he might as well live it up. Aaron disregarded who he looked like and played the role he always wanted to be. A doting loving husband. He used context clues and realized Mark wasn’t the most domineering of the two, but used a little initiative to motion to the bed. Ethan pulled him over as the continued to make out, Aaron’s new husband savagely ripped off the boxers he was wearing. Ethan pushed Aaron to bend over on the bed, ass up just like he liked it. It was a side of Ethan that Aaron never saw while babysitting Billy but he was savoring every single moment.

Aaron’s new husband romantically kissed him from behind again before having his head shoved onto the bed. A tongue quickly beginning to then explore his hole before a familiar to the body but foreign to Aaron sensation arrived. Ethan quickly entered before slowly rocking back out. That odd tempo was weird to understand at first before Aaron quickly accepted the pace and went with it.

Across the city, Mark was still enjoying his self-pleasure rodeo grunting and moaning as he pounded his new body’s meat. The vitality of a younger body was something he previously lost along the way of life but was thankful to have once again. This body knew its way in a gym clearly so what would’ve broken a sweat previously was like child’s play now. Stroking back and forth, Mark used his free hand to try and stimulate himself the way he used to, trying to explore his hole. His new body nearly protested itself. Way too tight, never seemingly been explored. A strict dom top? He should’ve known. That discovery almost erotic itself turning Mark on even more.

The universe seemingly playing its hand once again as both men on both sides of the city climaxing at the same time. Both independently relishing their new situations. Both getting what they wanted without the need to sacrifice seemingly anything?

Aaron turned to Ethan doting to him almost pleading with his eyes to go again. While Mark picked up a nearby shirt and made his way to a pre-school workout.

[nottriddlethis]

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Ravenclaw!reader

summary: Mattheo has always been annoying you. So since when did the things change?

warnings: smut, oral (male!receiving), dirty talk, language, 50/50 soft!Mattheo🤷🏻‍♀️, use of pronoun 'I'

author note: dedicated to all these tiktok creators, I love you with all my deepest💞🔥 Green - Mattheo, pink - you.

. ✦ 「 ✦ me ✦ 」 ✦

It always pissed me off how Mattheo Riddle could be so perfect without trying. No, the fact that he was related to a bloody villain who had practically built a new world on bones certainly cast a shadow on him, but he handled it masterfully. He was perfect at Quidditch: dexterous movements, strong back and arm muscles. (all these girls surely were delighted, and that made me even more irritable) And if only that! He had not only strong magic, but also a bloody sharp mind. I bet he would have been the best in grades if he had cared even a little bit about it. As a Ravenclaw, the squandering of such a gift infuriated me almost from our first meeting. And I probably would have let it slide over time, if he hadn't looked at me so condescendingly, so relaxed and so… his way. If he hadn't always inserted his idiotic phrases and smiled so annoyingly wide.

He's been around all the time, barbarically stealing my peace and thoughts.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Mattheo ✦ 」 ✦

Your name is the first thing that would come to my mind if I were asked about pleasure. The pleasure of seeing those brows drawn together in anger. The pleasure of making those lips purse in irritation. The pure pleasure squeezing my cock when you scream at me, your cheeks flushing and your chest heaving wildly. Up and down, up and down. Just like my hand, which would give me pleasure much later.

Because teasing you - is the sin I'm going to die with.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Potions project ✦ 」 ✦

"If you wink at that Gryffindor one more time, I'll brew you into an impotence potion," I whispered sharply, pressing the Potions book hard to the table. His arrogance is unbelievable.

Mattheo chuckled faintly and leaned back lazily in his chair. "Are you jealous, beauty?"

I swear, I've never rolled my eyes so hard before. "I'm annoyed. That's not the same thing."

Mattheo pretended to be deep in thought, tilting his head to the side.

"So, I annoy you?"

"Wow, how did you guess?"

I continued writing, not interested in the conversation anymore. Mattheo, of course, didn't let up. He lazily ran his fingers over the pages of the book. I glanced at how his arm muscles flexed at the motion. Big and strong. Big and strong? I slap myself out of these thoughts. Mattheo then leaned closer, as if he was about to say something really important.

"You know," - he lowered his voice a little, so that I felt the warmth of his breath on my fingers, and I even cocked up my ears, "I think you spend too much energy resisting my charm."

I looked at him from under my brows, my lips pursed involuntarily. “No, I'm just too smart to be seduced by you.”

Mattheo froze, looking at me, and then… smiled. Widely, slyly, with some strange, deep interest. I kept my gaze on him longer than usual because... I've seen him smile many times but now something hot spilled from my chest. The rest is required. Let’s finish this finally. I stood up, collecting the books and getting ready to put them back in their places.

“I know,” - he said quietly behind my back. “That's why I'm crazy about you.”

I felt the heat spread even more and blossomed in my cheeks. I was about to say something harsh, but for some reason… for some reason my lips trembled slightly in a smile. I walked further to the shelves to hide my confusion. Flawless bastard. I felt his self-confident grin behind me.

"Still," he yelled, leaning back in his chair, "Impotence potion won't break me, not after I've seen you."

The students turned to snicker at his shout, and I smacked him over the head with my Advanced Potions Course.

"Keep it up, Riddle, and I'll brew you something else."

"Like a love potion?"

"Oh, aren't you already in love with me?"

I rolled my eyes, but the lack of his usual humor gripped my heart in a vice.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Charms project ✦ 」 ✦

"Is it some kind of ancient curse bringing you to be my partner in every possible project?" you muttered, and as my own ritual, I was enjoying your narrowed eyes, the beautiful wrinkle on the bridge of your nose. Right up until the moment when you slammed your bag on the table and threw off your robe. Damn Merlin would have turned around in his grave. Pure Witch.

I overheard you mutter something like "barely made it after a shower" and deservedly praised the creator of muggle clothing. The blue top with wonderfully thin straps hugged your rounded breasts and outlined your waist. Do you think it's not enough for a rock hard cock? Think again.

You sat down at the table and the mounds of your breasts were almost next to my drool-filled mouth. Just an arm's length away. Bin-go.

"You know, you could work at Mungo's…", you looked up warily at my words, and I continued, "well, treat impotence, for example." "Mattheo…", here was a beautiful blush on your cheeks and liquid fury in your charming eyes. Pleasure when you always switch to my name when you are furious. I watched you leaned on the table and bent over. Breasts pressed against each other from the pressure. And my cock definitely felt it too. "So, judging by how much you mention this disease, it is something personal, right?"

"And will you help me?"

You demonstratively sat back and pulled out a parchment from your bag. This project will be just as long.

***

"… you still double-check my every word. So what's the point of writing?" I tore my gaze from your thin fingers clutching the quill and moved it to your eyes. Of course, stopping my gaze on the cleavage along the way. An absolute gorgeous.

"I just won't include your name in the work," you said seriously. And a smirk determined my next steps. One wave of my hand, and I leaned closer to inspect my work. Your quill, which had just been supposed to write down a list of counter-curses, wrote in my handwriting: Mattheo Riddle.

You frowned. Crossed out the name and tried again.

Mattheo Riddle.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you turned sharply to me. "You." How I missed your attention, beautiful.

"Me?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what" I leaned closer, looking at your scribbled sheet. "Oh, my. Apparently your body recognized me before your brain did."

And for about 10 minutes, you tried to disenchant the quill. With each unsuccessful - literally all - spell, the quill wagged its tip and its feathers slapped your cheek.

"If only you'd used half that power of yours to study…" you threw your hands up in indignation. I watched as your breasts jumped with the movement. How loudly would you scream if I bit them now? How deeply would you blush if I pulled that damn top down? How angry would you be if…

A sly smile spread across my face. I looked up, catching your movement. Just as your fingers closed around the quill, intending to break it, I jerked my hand, whispering a spell.

And I was ready to undo in my pants as soon as the tip of the quill rested against your round breasts. You froze, looking at it. It came letter after letter, and it felt like a measured jerking of my cock.

Mattheo Riddle.

Black on your breasts.

And the last thing I remember before I managed to run away from the rage in your eyes is your sweet open mouth, incredibly red cheeks and neck, and the most fucking hard nipples sticking out under the fabric of your top.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Astronomy project ✦ 」 ✦

I had washed off the ink long ago, but for the second week in a row, every time Mattheo Riddle looked at me, my chest burned and I felt every letter of his name. It burned in a way I would never admit, as behind the closed curtains of the bed, I ran my hand over my chest, shuddered, and went lower and lower. And only when I came silently on my hand - imagining his broad forearms, muscular back, and dirty whispers - did the burning calm down.

Tonight, the Astronomy project was separate for everyone and everyone finished closer to 1.30 am. We were sitting at low round tables with food, specially organized for late practices.

The damn feeling that Mattheo knew everything tickled me from the very beginning. He sat at the next table, constantly smiling at Blaise and completely ignoring me. Worse, his body was clinging to a single black T-shirt. And then, as if sensing my gaze, Mattheo stretched - invitingly, slowly - flexing his muscles, and exposing a strip of skin above his belt. For Merlin's sake! I turned away, but only to notice unpleasantly that I was not the only one who appreciated his actions. The girls were devouring him with their eyes. I pursed my lips. Don't you look at him. Just for a second I imagined if Matteo became tired of all these jokes for me, and one of these girls would capture his attention instead. Jealosy washed all of my feelings off.

I came to my senses when I was poked in the side and I heard Mattheo calling. He was looking at me attentively and holding a bowl in his hands. "What?" I whispered with my lips only and managed not to smile.

There were strawberries in the bowl. "Damn delicious. Just like you." Mattheo saluted me with the bowl and groped with his other hand on his desk. I felt the usual tension in my chest, my thighs moved together, my pussy clenched. But I didn't have time to answer him.

"And this is me," Mattheo raised his other hand and deliberately slowly poured thick white cream into the bowl. I watched without blinking as the viscous liquid dripped, came into contact with the pink strawberries, mixed and filled everything.

Gasps of surprise and confusion came from all around, and I could literally feel the girls staring at us.

So keep your eyes open then. I reached for the bowl and snatched it from Mattheo. I looked only at his eyes - blackened and insolent - and brought the bowl to my mouth and took a few sips. Pink drops ran down my chin from the edges of the wide bowl.

It was pure pleasure to watch his eyes open, devouring my movements. His mouth parted and a heavy breath escaped it. He couldn't help but understand my hint, as I did his. I would have given him 100 points for his clenched jaws, and all 1000 for the bulging veins on his tense hands.

Only one thought was troubling me at that moment - if only after the lesson there wouldn't be wet traces left on the fabric pouf under my panties.

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch? ✦ 」 ✦

The irritating tension of the final cup match almost reached the level of irritation at the lack of you. Malfoy doubled the training, Zabini scheduled free time to study strategy. Although the only strategy that worried me was 'how to finally get you'. Undoing three times in a row that night only because of the thick drops on your chin didn't seem enough. The cock throbbed to be inside your throat.

Two hours before the match the mood was furious. I last saw you at breakfast, talking to Nott about something. That's where the rage started. Well, that's pretty nice fuel for an important game, I decided, walking last to the team's locker room. The last thing I expected was to be suddenly pushed into a spare and dark room. The whisper of a locking spell reached for my ears. My cock recognized that whisper before I did and twitched. The whole world went off as I watched you go down on your knees. Am I already the winner?

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch. ✦ 」 ✦

I saw how Mattheo's eyes widened in surprise as I suddenly pulled him to the wall and sank to my knees before him. A light blush spread across his pale cheeks, highlighting his shock at my bold move. Perfect. Perfectly Mattheo Riddle in his tight quidditch uniform towered over me distracted and vulnerable. His breath hitched in his throat as my gaze met his, a flicker of desire mixed with confusion in his dark eyes.

"D..don't think I don't like it but now.., beauty?" he stammered, his usually confident demeanor cracking slightly. Despite his words, his hips twitched forward almost unconsciously, drawn to my proximity. I rolled my tongue over my gums in anticipation and studied him.

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, itching to reach out and touch but hesitant to some reason. The dim candlelight cast shadows across his toned chest and abs, visible through his partially unbuttoned team shirt. Merlin help me, he is so flawless. Puppy eyes for such an arrogant nature.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. The air between us was charged with a new kind of tension, a mix of flirtation and vulnerability. I licked my lips slowly and almost approach them to his pants' zipper. Mattheo let out a heavy breath, his hands clenched into fists. I ghost the zipper outline with my lips, feeling his groin was already rock hard. I licked it with a tip of my tongue. All along.

His primal groan sent shivers down my spine right into the already soaking pussy. His hands flew up to grab me but..

"Touch me and I'll stop, Riddle"

"No, you bloody witch..." Mattheo pleaded but obeyed. His hands fell to his sides, and he closed his eyes to seek some control.

A pleasant choked moan escaped his swollen lips as I boldly undid his pants in few swift motions, freeing his hard, throbbing cock. Sweet, so fucking sweet finally. It sprang up, already leaking precum from the purplish head. He shuddered, seemed to fight the urge to guide my head down.

"Fuck, please, beauty... if you keep this up, you're going to be the death of me," he panted, his voice strained with desperation. His hips twitched with the need to thrust into hot mouth.

As my hand wrapped around his thick shaft and stroked him, Mattheo couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. His cock pulsed and jumped in my grip, the veins along the underside throbbing with his racing heartbeat. Despite his desperate moaning his words still raw and seducing, "Ohhh fuck... ur fuckin little fingers feels s' good...but bet your little pink pussy is tight even for them."

My pussy clenched in responce, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. "So think about how your cock will be tightly squeezed inside", i teased him.

His only answer was my groaned name.

That's when I reached forward and took him fully into my mouth at once. Mattheo threw his head back and let out a desperate, whining sound that echoed through the empty room. His cock hit the back of my throat, and he had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from rocking into this heat.

"Shit, ur mouth...'s every lustful thought I had," he panted, his hips rocking slightly as he tried to restrain himself. I loved how his moans are mixed with bold words, "Suck me just like that, you naughty little minx... Fuck, I want to touch you so badly, to grab your hair and fuck your pretty face until you choke on my cock... but I'll be good, I promise, don't stop beauty.."

I enjoyed. Enjoyed as...

Mattheo was practically sobbing with need, his voice a desperate wreck as he fought to obey my rule. "Please, I've been waitin so long for you girl.." The sounds of his moans and whimpers bounced off the walls, a lewd symphony in the dim light. He was utterly at my mercy, consumed by lust and craving my touch. So good, Merlin, so good. What took me so long to fall for him? So noisy, so desperate, so pleading.

So, I sucked him off so boldly and fast, taking him all for myself. Enjoying every inch of his arousal, touching his pelvis with my nose. Damn Mattheo Riddle was finally getting what he was crazy about. And it made me even more wet between my legs. I tortured him even more, gulping him fully far down. Then licking only his swollen head. Repeated that. Repeated. Mattheo's eyes rolled back in bliss as I focused my attention on the sensitive head, swirling my tongue around it and lapping up his leaking precum. The teasing was driving him absolutely mad with lust. "yes, beauty, 'es... just for once 'm gonna be a good one.."

Then I finally whispered those two magical words - "Touch me" - and Mattheo didn't hesitate. His hands flew to my hair, gripping it roughly as he finally allowed himself to thrust widely into my eager mouth. He set a fast, almost punishing pace, his heavy balls slapping against my chin with each pump of his hips.

"Hell yeah, fucking witch.. my little hussy," Mattheo growled, his voice ragged and desperate. He pulled my head up, forcing his cock deeper as he chased his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"'m gonna fuck ur mouth 'til you can't breathe, 'til all you can taste 's my cum. Drink it all down like the greedy hussy you are." And then his hands were more rough in my hair, his hips thrusting more wide.

I was suffocating. But it was nothing because I had not eaten anything since yesterday evening, I could now take him without any particular obstacles. I plot it enjoyably. The gag reflex perfectly bypassed his cock. The small room filled with the obscene sounds of his flesh slapping against mine, mixed with his guttural moans. Wild, desperate, whining my Mattheo. A few more furious thrusts later, Mattheo let out a long, low groan that seemed to come from the depths of his being. His cock pulsed and throbbed violently before he slammed deep into my throat and came abundantly. Sticky, warm, lovely seed flowed down my throat while he trembled and cursed non-stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, ma beautiful chippy...fuckin long s' fuckin long 've been waitin for you" His voice, his body were shaking after orgasm, mouth spitting out unconscious links of words.

As the last spurts dribbled out, Mattheo collapsed down to the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosened "Ohhhh fuck... only dreamt abou..." he stopped mid-word because I kissed him fiercely, licking and marking his lips. I was so horny, so needy for his touch but he had to win this match, so I pulled away and stood up.

His eyes watched as a thin, shiny thread of my juices hung from under my skirt to my knee. And he, still sitting on the floor, reached up and licked it off my knee with his hot tongue. The shiver of subsequent events after the match made me bite my lip.

"The winner will take all." His voice was low and confident. I knew - he would do both:

Win this match right now.

And take me then.

[vettelsvee]

THE CALL OF LOVE | Sebastian Vettel

Primary School Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is the cool, annoying, extroverted teacher, while you are the shy, introverted and perfectionist one. Seb phones you all the time because he wants to get closer with you somehow but, also, he knows that you suffer from pretty bad anxiety and wants to respect your boundaries. However, when you have to go to Seb's class and ask him for help after your classroom becomes pure chaos, he finds the perfect opportunity to become closer with you... only to find out that, definitely, you want to get closer with him as well even your anxiety says otherwise ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE TODAY!

WORD COUNT: 4798

WARNINGS: Mentions of anxiety, curse words. Lots of fluff (I loved this Seb btw).

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @blushmimi @herdetectivetheorist @awnmaneez

VEE'S NOTES: Third Teacher!Seb fic in a row since you asked! Hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it! Thank you for all the love you're giving to this, really, I'm so grateful <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Although it wasn’t enough for many, you were more than happy being a teacher at one of the most well-known schools in Heppenheim, a small town in Germany. 

Now that you had achieved your dream, all you wanted was things to flow perfectly. The main problem? Your anxiety and constant need for perfection, which were the most notable things about you. On top of that, there was the strict routine that was almost impossible to deviate from. However, the real problem lay in everything related to socializing... not with your students or their parents, but with the rest of the teachers.

Sebastian Vettel, the teacher of the other 2nd grade class, had also started working there that same year. Although you initially thought your relationship would be a calm one, the reality was far from that. Seb was the complete opposite of you: a walking chaos, with more than enough confidence and a charm that made him some kind of superhero to his students.

You tried your best to keep a professional relationship with him, but it was impossible. When you wanted to do a project on biodiversity with perfectly structured activities aligned with the curriculum, Seb preferred to take them outside to let them see it for themselves. If you thought it would be a great idea for them to write a small essay about Christmas, Seb preferred to show them a movie because, in his words, “they would have time to write when they’re older.”

And if that wasn’t enough, Sebastian had the annoying habit of calling your classroom phone several times a day with ridiculous questions:

“Miss Y/L/N speaking,” you answered as calmly as you could, while still supervising your students coloring.

“Y/N!” Sebastian shouted from the other end of the line. “Hey, quick question... Do our students need permission from their parents to go out?”

“To go out? Do you mean… recess?” you frowned.

“Of course!”

“No, Sebastian, the kids don’t need permission to go out during break. It's mandatory,” you added with a hint of sarcasm.

“Great, thanks! By the way, did you know the hold music is super cute? I thought you'd want to know since it's as cute as you and…”

You hung up before he could continue.

The next day, the same thing: Sebastian called just to ask whether necessary needed one "c" or two. The day after, it was to ask whether the coffee in the teacher's lounge was free.

It was never anything serious. There was never an emergency or anything like that. It was simply Sebastian Vettel asking you the most stupid things, things he already knew perfectly well. Despite that, you forced yourself to answer the phone, trying to calm your anxiety while giving him a quick, convincing response to get him off the line, before hanging up.

You knew you could ignore him, but deep down, this strange routine had become your favorite part of the day.

And, unbeknownst to you, for Sebastian, it had too.

Seb knew exactly how you felt about him; about any interaction with your colleagues, in fact. He was fully aware that you were a little scared of speaking in public. He could tell by moments like when you nervously played with a pink pen with butterflies every time you had to speak during staff meetings, or when during the Christmas play, just before going on stage with him and your students, you excused yourself by saying you were about to vomit... something that wasn’t entirely an excuse.

To him, you were the brightest person he had ever met. The way you taught, how you cared for your students, how he noticed you watching him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention... Seb knew that being this persistent could have the opposite effect on you, but as much as he wanted to take a step forward and maybe become a friend, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or pressure you into anything you didn’t want.

So, Sebastian decided to stop calling you.

You were puzzled when the phone didn’t ring. At first, you considered it a good thing, but as the hours went by, you realized something was missing.

The day felt endless, something that rarely happened to you. The same went for your mood, which had plummeted. And as if that weren’t enough, the art class turned into an absolute disaster, and you didn’t know how to manage it, no matter how hard you tried to calm your anxiety and think of alternatives to wrap it up as soon as possible.

Your students only needed a few minutes working on their own, making animals out of paper-mâché, while you corrected math tests, to turn the class into a total mess. There were strips of paper everywhere. The younger kids had glue all over their hands, leaving trails everywhere. One of the blue paint cans had even fallen to the floor, spreading quickly.

To make matters worse, when you tried calling Sebastian to see if he could bring you a mop, the phone decided to stop working.

You sighed and looked at the door separating your classroom from his, realizing that you had no choice but to admit to yourself that, as hard as it was to ask, you needed help.

Without saying anything to your students, you took a deep breath and shyly cracked open the door.

Sebastian was sitting at his desk, gesturing dramatically with his hands while his students stared at him as he seemed to be telling them a story.

"So, there I was, in front of a goat, after losing my parents. And do you know what happened next?" he said, walking dramatically and opening his eyes wide.

“What happened, Mr. Vettel?!” the kids shouted.

“The goat ate the sandwich my mom had made me for the trip.”

The class burst into laughter.

You couldn’t help it and laughed too, stopping when the embarrassment of having to interrupt the class just to ask for help washed over you once again. You couldn’t just walk in there like it was nothing, and—

“Oh my goodness! Look, kids, we have a surprise guest!”

You paled. The 30 second graders all turned towards you at once, their faces lighting up as if they’d seen an alien.

Then, they started chanting your name and running toward you to hug you, forcing you to step inside. Sebastian hopped down from his desk and approached you, arms crossed and wearing a smile that, if you were honest with yourself, you were dying to see.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Miss Y/L/N?”

You clenched your fists, knowing there was no way around it.

“Well… I need your help, Mr. Vettel,” you admitted in a low voice.

Sebastian blinked. Although it took him completely by surprise, he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he turned to his students.

“Alright, kiddos. I need you to be really good and stay quiet for a moment while I help our favorite teacher, okay? I’m right here, so if I hear any shouting, I’ll take away your snacks and Friday’s movie tradition.”

A collective gasp spread through the class, but Sebastian didn’t have to say anything else. Immediately, all the kids went back to their seats and pulled out books to read.

To your surprise, they didn’t make another sound.

“Come on, Miss Y/L/N, lead the way.”

You followed his lead, and then it was you who invited Seb to come in. Once he stepped inside, the German had no words. Instead, his eyes started to scan the room.

“Wow…”

“Yeah, I know…” you sighed.

Sebastian slowly turned to face you, trying not to laugh. Of all the chaos, what surprised him most was that one of the kids, named Martin, had his shirt stuck to the chair, covered in glue, and three desks were completely covered in the same blue paint that was on the floor. To top it off, the stain you had seen moments ago had spread not only on the floor but also on the clothes and faces of many of your students.

That’s when you realized the worst.

A group of girls was standing, whispering to each other, around the hamster cage in the class... which was empty.

“Y/N…” Seb lowered his voice. “Tell me the hamster’s in the cage, but I don’t see it…”

“It’s somewhere in the classroom. The problem is, I don’t know where, and there’s only half an hour left before the day ends…” You admitted, feeling quite embarrassed.

“Are you telling me there’s a dwarf hamster loose around here?”

“Are you going to help me or what?” you snapped, frustrated, glaring at him. “Look, Sebastian… We don’t have much time before we have to leave, and if I don’t get the kids out at the exact time, just like they were brought in, you know the parents are going to go crazy…”

“Relax, Y/N. I got it.”

You didn’t have much idea what could be going through Sebastian’s head, let alone how he’d manage to fix this, but you tried to relax and give him a chance for everything to return to normal little by little.

To your surprise, that’s exactly what happened.

Not only did he divide the children into small groups to do simple tasks, like going to the bathroom to clean up, looking for the class hamster (which they found almost immediately, curled up beside a cabinet), or collecting the materials they’d used and putting them away, but he also took both classes to the school exit so you wouldn’t have to face desperate parents asking why their kids looked like they’d just been on a jungle expedition.

The bell marking the end of school had rung half an hour ago, and you were fully aware that most teachers had probably packed up and gone home by now. Sebastian hadn’t even appeared to tell you that his students had returned safely to their parents, and, for a reason you knew all too well, that disappointed you.

You sighed, trying to let go of those thoughts and illusions that shouldn’t matter so much. Instead, you focused on the pile of papers on your desk, the art supplies that still hadn’t been put away, and the paint that, no matter how hard you tried to clean it off the floor, seemed impossible to remove. You decided to calm down and start with something simple, like putting away the materials and picking up tiny pieces of paper from the floor.

“Do you know school’s over for today, right?”

You turned to the door. Sebastian was leaning against it, arms crossed and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He threw his backpack on the floor and walked over to sit next to you, helping you pick up the papers without any explanation.

“No… I didn’t hear you come in…” you confessed in surprise. And I wasn’t expecting you, you thought.

“That’s because I’m as sneaky as a ninja. The kids tell me that all the time,” he smiled, glancing at you sideways.

Seb continued his task, silent, scanning the classroom. It was no longer the disaster it had been just an hour ago. Now, the desks were perfectly grouped in fives, the class materials seemed to finally be in place, and, to your surprise, the stains had disappeared from everywhere.

“Y/N, you should go home,” Sebastian told you, standing up and helping you to do the same.

“I just need to finish cleaning up a little more…”

“Or you could not do that,” he interrupted.

You let out a small laugh for the first time that day, carefree. You were nervous and exhausted, and Seb knew that perfectly well.

“I just want to make sure everything’s perfect for tomorrow,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We managed to not kill a hamster with twenty-something kids running around and stopped the paint from getting on the walls, and you’re telling me you want to make sure everything’s perfect for tomorrow?”

“Well… yes,” you answered, looking down and biting your lip.

“That’s pretty adorable, honestly,” Sebastian said. Realizing what he’d just said, and that it might make you uncomfortable, he corrected himself. “I mean, as in your passion for teaching and everything…”

Stop fooling yourself and be honest with her, Sebastian.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s that, but…” you tried to articulate, your cheeks completely red.

“Well, the thing is: what else can I help you with?” Sebastian asked, unable to stop smiling. The fact that you were embarrassed by something so simple seemed so cute to him that he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what can I help you with, Y/N?” he repeated slowly.

“Well… the truth is, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Sebastian interrupted. “But I want to help you.”

You stared at him, unable to respond. You were used to helping people, not being helped yourself, and that left you speechless.

“What’s left to do?” Vettel insisted with care, moving a little closer to you while still keeping his distance.

“If you want, you can put the exams on the desk into the folders beside them,” you finally said, giving up.

“On it, Miss Y/L/N.”

“But really, Sebastian, you don’t have to—”

“If you tell me again you don’t need help, I’ll have to punish you with no recess.”

You burst out laughing, and to Sebastian, it sounded like pure medicine. For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like a total failure.

You worked in complete silence, letting time pass as you finished organizing everything. When you were finally done, you slumped into the chair and started checking your emails, wondering if any parent had decided to make your day even worse by sending a complaint after the day you’d had. To your surprise, there was nothing. What did surprise you, though, was that Seb came in with two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of sweets that, even more surprisingly, were your favorites.

“Here you go,” he said, offering you one of the cups while placing the bag on the table. “You were so focused that I didn’t want to bother you by saying I was leaving. And, well… I also wanted to brighten your day a little.”

You thanked him with a smile and didn’t hesitate to try the chocolate, which tasted like a real victory after such a bittersweet day.

Then, you closed your computer, put it in your bag, and, to your surprise and his, turned your chair to face him.

“What’s going on?” you said, noticing that Seb was looking at you… strangely.

“Nothing. It’s just… you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, not knowing what else to say. Instead, he shook his head and set his mind on doing what he had promised himself when he started working there: to try to become friends with you.

“Tell me about Miss Y/L/N’s teaching philosophy,” he finally said.

“Excuse me?” you hesitated.

“Come on, let’s go. I know you have one. You take this job too seriously not to have some kind of ritual or something to make everything go perfectly…”

“Except for today,” you replied.

Seb didn’t say anything because he knew how much you’d keep beating yourself up. Instead, he took a chocolate from the bag he had brought, unwrapped it, and placed it beside you. You finally accepted it without complaint, but with a smile in return.

“Well… I guess I want them to feel safe,” you started to say. “I want them to know that no matter what happens, it’s okay to make mistakes or not be perfect sometimes… I want them to know that I’m here for whatever they need, and that they can be great people in the future.”

“That’s amazing, Y/N,” Seb nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off you.

“It’s not a big deal…”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “You care a lot, don’t you?”

“More than you can imagine…” you swallowed, feeling a little vulnerable.

“I can see that perfectly, yes.”

“Really?”

“Seb nodded, playing with his mug.”

“You’re always the first one to arrive, and I’d swear the last one to leave. You do the most original activities and, at the same time, try not to die in the process, even though today was the exact opposite,” you both laughed. “You want to be perfect for them and try to give your best.”

“Is that bad?” you asked cautiously, tensing up a little.

“Not at all,” Seb answered immediately. “But sometimes I think you should stop being so hard on yourself and just go with the flow. You know... let things just happen by themselves.”

You were about to answer, but he continued:

“You’re a great teacher, Y/N. You don’t need to prove it to anyone but yourself, okay?”

Something in your chest tightened. You weren’t used to hearing things like that, especially not from your colleagues.

Or maybe you never gave yourself the chance for someone to recognize your well-done work, thinking it had never been, and would never be, enough.

You kept talking to Sebastian about a bit of everything, feeling right at home. The hours passed, and between questions about how you both ended up being teachers, what motivated you to dedicate your life to it, and how you both ended up in Heppenheim, it was already 7 PM.

You glanced at the clock and immediately stood up, quickly starting to gather your things, which made Seb alarmed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, worried.

“I should go…” you said, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “I need to catch the bus before it gets too late. It’s the last one of the day and…”

“Wait,” he interrupted you. “You take the bus home?”

“Uh... yeah?”

“This late?”

“I’ve been doing it since I moved here, so it’s nothing new.”

“And no one’s offered to take you home? Not even to share fuel expenses and stuff?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “From now on, I’ll take you home.”

Your eyes widened, surprised.

“Sebastian, you really don’t have to…”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he cut you off, taking your backpack, offering his hand, and leading you out of the classroom, making sure to turn off the lights before you left.

“I don’t want to be a bother…”

“Do you think you’re a bother just because I want to take you home and make sure you arrive safe?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway and still looking at you. “I’d be a terrible friend if I let you go alone on the bus, especially this late with all the drunk creeps around.”

You froze. Friend.

“Come on, let’s go,” Seb spoke again. This time, noticing you were shivering, he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from your nervousness, so he decided to put his jacket over your shoulders. “The day you let me help you a little more, we’ll be the best team the world’s ever seen.”

You didn’t say anything else until you reached Sebastian's car. Not even when you sat inside after Seb opened the door for you and turned the heat on full blast.

“Well…” Seb broke the silence as he placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Where to, Y/L/N?”

“You want me to guide you all the way?”

“Do you expect me to guess the way?” Vettel joked. “Y/N, I’ve got balls, but none of them are crystal, so…”

Embarrassed, and especially starting to overthink whether Seb would start judging you not only for your answer but for the entire day you spent together, you simply gave him the directions.

Seb, knowing you might be feeling down and, unlike the whole afternoon when you talked about everything, seeing you retreat into yourself again, started asking you a bit of everything. Why did you decide to move to Heppenheim, such a small town? What was your favorite place? Did you like your neighborhood?

You weren’t used to that flood of questions, and especially not to people showing interest in you. Since you were very young, you always felt left out, like you didn’t belong to any group...

But with Seb, it was different. It was like he actually cared about you, and you couldn’t help but feel incredibly good about it.

“I like the new neighborhood. Quite cozy and nice...”

Seb parked the car in a small free spot in front of the apartment block where you lived. Then, he turned toward you with a smile, placing his arm behind your seat.

“It’s very quiet, which is great when I need to grade or when I just want to read and relax.”

“Oh, are you one of those?” Seb teased.

“One of what?”

“One of those teachers who reads all the time.”

“Seb, we’re teachers,” you were surprised to call him by his nickname so naturally, but you didn’t regret it. “Of course, I read all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but what I mean is, do you read for fun?” he corrected himself. “Do you read those dirty books or the inspirational ones that tell you how to be the perfect teacher?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you hit him on the arm.

“I read for fun.”

“That confirms it, you do read those dirty books where they’re constantly... you know… having sex in the dirtiest ways…”

“They’re called romance novels, Seb,” you corrected him, ignoring his comment. “The last thing I read was a romantic novel, okay? With no sex in it, by the way.”

“I knew you were a hopeless romantic…”

“I don’t know why I even told you anything…” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands.

Seb wanted to reply with something more, to joke around with you, but he knew that for today, it had been enough. What mattered was that you had felt comfortable and, most of all, opened up a little more with him that day.

Silence fell between you both again, but neither of you dared to say anything else. Not even you, who had yawned a couple of times and were dying to get home and get into bed without even having dinner, made the effort to get out of the car.

You didn’t know why you were so hesitant to leave. It was easy: thank Seb, say goodnight, get out of the car, and walk into the building without waiting to see if he drove off. Instead, you decided to stay there, by his side, your hands resting on your legs, feeling safer and, above all, happier than you had in a long time.

Seb didn’t say anything either. Instead, he focused on the streetlights, growing brighter with each passing moment, while his fingers drummed on the leather steering wheel.

Finally, you were the one who decided to take the step, to both your surprise:

“Well... I felt really comfortable today,” you admitted, with a calm voice.

Seb turned toward you suddenly, surprised.

You swallowed nervously, trying not to let the anxiety consume you and, above all, trying to stop the embarrassment from taking over. 

"Well, I was thinking that... we could do this once in a while..."

Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk.

"What, reorganize a class and try not to die in the process? And not killing a hamster?"

"No, I meant...," you hesitated, then looked at him shyly. "I meant… spending time together. Outside of school."

That caught Sebastian off guard, but he couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face. He hadn’t expected you to say that, especially not after the chaotic day you'd both had.

"Wait..." he murmured, searching for the right words. "Are you telling me that... you want to spend time together, and not during class hours?"

You felt like you were going to die from embarrassment. Nervous and a little regretful, you weren’t going to back down though. You held your backpack tight, like some kind of protection, while fidgeting nervously in your seat.

"Well... I felt really comfortable today with you, and I thought maybe we could do it again. You know… grab a coffee, go for a walk..."

Sebastian didn't say anything. He just stared at you, unable to recognize the person in front of him, yet delighted that maybe, with a little bit of help from him, you had stepped out of your comfort zone, even if you didn’t seem entirely comfortable.

"Forget what I just said..." you mumbled.

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze, unable to look at him in the face. Sebastian, however, couldn’t have been happier in that moment.

"Not a chance. I like your idea. Actually, I’m more than happy with it."

His voice was calmer now, which gave you the courage to look at him. His blue eyes, which normally made you nervous and stole your words, now made you feel the same, but for an entirely different reason. You felt pressure in your chest, but this time it was nothing like the anxiety or fear of being judged and rejected.

"Hey," Sebastian spoke again, gently taking your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Since, from what I’ve just heard, you don't mind spending time with me..."

"Seb, please, don’t ruin this moment..."

You narrowed your eyes, instinctively leaning toward his lips, and Sebastian didn’t hesitate to close the distance, pressing his lips to yours. At first, it was soft, like you both were making sure that was really happening not just in your minds. When Sebastian felt you sigh against his lips, something in him clicked. His hand, still resting on your chin, slid to your cheek, caressing it tenderly, while his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

You let yourself go, feeling butterflies in your stomach for the first time in a long time, not because you wanted to disappear, but because you felt more alive than ever.

When you finally pulled apart, Sebastian rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

"Tell me this isn’t a mistake, Seb..." you whispered, still confused about what just happened.

"If it is, I hope you, Miss Perfection, don’t mind."

You laughed nervously, filled with emotions and confusion, but mostly happiness.

"So... what now?" you asked, breathless.

"I love the idea of kissing you in my car like a couple of teenagers, but I think it’s getting too late and we have to get up early tomorrow. So, I have an idea."

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling.

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow's Thursday, Y/N. We have to go to class," Sebastian explained, as if you didn’t already know what he meant. "If I pick you up, you won’t have to wake up extra early to catch the bus."

Your heart skipped a beat. Yes, it was a simple offer, nothing extraordinary, but to you, it felt like more... like Sebastian wanted something more with you.

Like you mattered to Sebastian Vettel.

Seb saw the hesitation, the doubt in your eyes. He leaned in gently, and after placing a short but tender kiss on your lips, he spoke again.

"I know I don’t have to do this, but I want to," he assured you.

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was serious. It wasn’t some bad joke like many other guys had made in the past. He really meant it.

"Okay," was all you could say.

Sebastian’s smile lit up his face.

"Great, princess. I’ll see you at seven-thirty here tomorrow. And I know it’s not necessary, but I have to remind you: please, don’t you dare being late."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you opened the car door and stepped out, a smile forming on your lips like never before.

Then, you hesitated at the door, but you were ready to, for once in your life, stop trying to be so perfect.

"Goodnight, Seb," you said softly. "And... Thank you. For everything."

"Sleep well, best teacher in the whole world."

You walked toward your building, and when you were inside, you turned around to see if Sebastian had left. To your surprise, he was still there, making sure you had entered safely.

You both waved to each other, and as you climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, you realized that, for the first time, the anxiety about tomorrow wasn’t paralyzing you. 

Instead, it was tomorrow, alongside Sebastian Vettel, what were making you feel alive.

[paci-papa]

You smiled and spun, sending your skirts twirling and revealing the slightly damp diaper hiding underneath.

You were ecstatic! Papa had promised he had a big surprise for you this weekend. It had been months since he let you leave the house. The fact he was taking you on a trip, a weekend away, was enthralling!

You had put on your favorite purple princess dress, tied your hair into two cute pigtails, and picked out your favorite paci.

You were determined to pay Papa back for taking you out by being the cutest overgrown baby you could be.

"Oh, sweetie, you look adorable!" Papa said as he walked back in the house after loading your Frozen themed suit case in the truck.

You just beamed at him from behind your paci at the complement.

"Come on, cutie, let's load up! It's time to get going!"

You skipped to the car and let Papa buckle you into your car seat without a fuss. You kicked your feet happily as you tried to pry for details about the weekend. But, as cute as you were lisping out your questions, Papa wouldn't drop a hint at where you were going.

As you drove though, you started to become worried. Each turn Papa took began to look familiar.

Each neighborhood, park, and house you drove by left a similar sense of foreboding in your gut.

You hadn't always been Papa's perfect little baby, after all. In fact, before Papa, you had been a beautiful, confident woman who was, to put it bluntly, a self-absorbed bitch.

But that all changed when you fell for Papa. His overwhelming Daddy-energy and his careful balance of punishment and rewards made you change, made you want to change, for the better.

It made you want to become his little girl.

But, as you made yet another all too familiar turn, you suddenly remembered that your journey with diapers didn't start with Papa.

"Papa, where are we going?" You nervously asked, you earlier exhuberance leaving your voice as you pulled into a driveway, your worst fears being confirmed.

"Papa, no," you breathed out, a hint of the adult in you peeking through.

"Hush, little Erica," Papa said as he parked the car, "Papa has a work trip this weekend, and I can't trust you to watch yourself anymore. So, I found you a babysitter."

"And," Papa said gesturing at a house you haven't thought about for years, "I think I found the perfect one."

This is part one of a collaboration Papa is working on with his adorable little friend, @destinedfordiapers. Check out his blog to keep following the story!

[growthhyp]

I want to transform into a muscular jock with high confidence and attitude. As I am obese and not courageous. I want to acquire a new lifestyle and memories

The Hair Wax

As you stroll towards the inviting embrace of the beach, the warm sun kissing your skin, you notice a hulking figure standing by the shoreline. His beard is like a wild forest, untamed and thick, obscuring his face features. His hair, a dark mane, cascading down his muscular back. Intrigued, you decide to approach him despite the uncanny vibe he exudes.

"Hey little man," he says, his voice like gravel over velvet, "you look like you could use some help." You feel a twinge of annoyance at his observation. True, you're not the most muscular or tall, but who is he to judge?

"What do you want?" you reply, crossing your arms over your slightly chubby belly.

The mysterious man holds out a canister, "This is hair wax, my friend. It's not just any hair wax. It's special. Go ahead, try it."

You're skeptical but can't resist the urge to engage. "Why would I need hair wax at the beach?"

The man, who introduces himself as Viktor, laughs heartily, "Ah, you're a smart one. But trust me, this isn't your ordinary beach day. Try it, young man. It's like nothing you've ever felt before."

With a shrug, you take the canister, curious about the claim. You scoop out a dollop with your fingers and spread it through your hair. It's sticky but smells faintly of the ocean, a scent that's both calming and invigorating. "It's... different," you admit.

Viktor's grin widens, revealing a set of teeth as gleaming as the sun reflecting off the waves. "Good, good," he says, patting you on the shoulder, a gesture that feels surprisingly warm and firm. "Remember, this isn't for everyone. But for you, it's perfect."

You nod, not really understanding what he means, but eager to get to the beach. "Thanks, I guess," you murmur before turning away. As you walk towards the shore, you can't shake the feeling of his eyes on you, watching. You look back over your shoulder, but the spot where he stood is now empty. A slight shiver runs down your spine. Maybe he was just a weird beach vendor. You shake off the odd encounter and focus on the crashing waves ahead.

Setting up your towel and umbrella, you lay down to soak in some sun. You feel the sand warm beneath you and the gentle caress of the breeze. But then, something strange happens. Your head starts to itch, not just a little but an intense, overwhelming itch. You scratch vigorously, trying to ignore it. But it doesn't go away. It gets stronger.

Suddenly, you realize your belly is shrinking! Your skin tightens as the extra padding of fat vanishes. Your arms bulge as muscles grow beneath your skin. Your chest puffs up, pushing against your tank top. You see your biceps and triceps popping out, giving you a look that's both surprising and exhilarating. The neckline of your shirt stretches as your shoulders and traps balloon.

You stand up, feeling a strange power surging through you. Your legs, once average, are now thick pillars of power. Your calves bulge like rocks, making you feel like you could run for miles. And your feet... they're bigger! You look down to find them swelling in your flip flops, which now seem so tiny. You rip them off, feeling the sand under your now massive soles.

Panic sets in as you realize your shorts are getting tight, really tight. You try to pull them down, but they cling to your growing thighs like a second skin. And that bulge in the front... it's definitely not a disease. No, it's something else entirely. You look around, hoping nobody's noticed your sudden transformation. Your shoulders and lats bursting out from the sides, your back muscles rippling like waves under your skin.

You touch your jaw and feel it hardening, growing more defined. Your shoulders widen, making your posture more assertive. People are staring, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you're filled with a newfound confidence. You flex your arms and watch in awe as the veins pop out, your biceps and triceps swelling like they're fighting to escape their new, tightly wrapped home. You're not just a regular Joe anymore; you're becoming a beast!

You start to strut down the beach, feeling the power of an alpha male. Your voice drops to a commanding bass, making heads turn. You're no longer the shy guy hiding in the corner; you're the center of attention. You want to show off this new body, to make everyone see what you've become. The hair wax had done something to you, something incredible. You're not just stronger now; you're sexier, more dominant. You are an ALPHA.

___

Thank you @brains4brawn for providing the prompt for the video.

[bennysmiller]

Treat You Better - Part One (Triple Frontier x You)

A new series in which the Triple Frontier boys help you through a breakup, and it changes everything.

The iced latte that sits in front of you doesn’t hit like it usually does and now you’re sure that the worst part about having a broken heart is that it ruins everything for you. You can’t even feed your caffeine addiction without thinking of him.

“So,” Benny starts, hoping to finally get your attention. “You’re looking well.”

You look up at the four men around your table, all of whom seem awkward at the lack of conversation.

“I’m looking well?” You repeat, with a mix of disgust and confusion in your voice, while tugging at your somewhat messy hair and cringing at the bags that sit so proudly under your eyes.

“I mean, considering, you know…everything.” Replied Benny, trying his absolute best to not offend you.

He’s referencing the breakup. Evidently, there is no “post-breakup glow”, your friends had lied to you. You’re a mess. A mess that even coffee couldn’t fix.

“Well, thank you Ben. How charming.”

Frankie clears his throat at this and turns to you.

“What he means, is that you’re handling it a lot better than your last breakup.”

That did not make it any better. You glare at Frankie in response, and this time, Will sits forward, his arms crossed on the table. If looks could kill, Benny and Frankie would be well and truly dead, and Will would be the one holding the gun. That’s shut everyone up, you think to yourself.

“I’ve had enough of this silence. What are we all feeling like doing tonight? Movie night? Something stronger than coffee? Running out into the traffic?” You say, trying to break the tension. After all, you caused it. You invited everyone to the coffee shop just to attend the funeral of your relationship.

No one says anything. Instead, the guys all exchange looks with each other, like they know something you don’t. Like they already have plans they don’t want to tell you about. To your right, Frankie starts playing with his baseball cap and runs a hand through those curls of his. Will is looking at his lap. Benny has a slight smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

The atmosphere between all of you has shifted now. As you go around the table, you discover that Santi is looking at you with a very specific look in those eyes of his. But he looks elsewhere when you meet his gaze, and you know something is up.

“What is wrong with all of you? Has this emotional mess I have become put you off as well?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at them.

“It’s the opposite,” says Frankie, a slight nervousness in his voice. “Benny?”

Now you’re confused. You look at Benny, waiting for him to explain.

He still has that smirk on his face and it’s starting to piss you off. Just a little. It melts you, the way he looks so cocky and handsome and perfect. But he’s being a dick by not answering you, so you shrug at him to further demand a response.

“You think you could ever put us off? You couldn’t be more wrong. We have an idea. A game. We love you, but you have terrible taste in men, sweetheart. We hate seeing you so heartbroken. We think we could change that.”

There is something much different in the air now. It isn’t an uncomfortable tension of awkward silence over bad coffee. It’s an excitement you want to know more about. So for the first time since the breakup, of course it is Benny fucking Miller who has managed to bring the butterflies within you back to life. All you needed was for him to light the spark the last man put out, and now you’re overwhelmed with confidence.

“Go on, Miller. Don’t leave me hanging.”

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 12/?)

It's almost impossible not to be seduced by Silco's words, especially when they echo the conviction you thought you had overcome. Perhaps the truth is that you never changed; perhaps, deep down, you are just as monstrous as he is.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 9,2K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, fingerfucking, vaginal fingering, public sex, allusions to squirting, exhibitionism, possessive behavior, slight hints of reader's threats, Silco being a manipulator, allusions to kidnapping and torture, Silco being bad with feelings, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 11

Powder.

For a moment, the world stopped.

The unmistakable blue hair was longer now, braided into two plaits that draped over her shoulders. Her face was slightly older, touched by the first signs of adolescence, but it still carried the undeniable traces of the little girl you once swore to protect. The same little girl you had watched from afar countless times, making sure she didn't get herself into trouble.

The past clashed with the present like a punch straight to the gut. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time.

She looked about twelve, maybe thirteen now. The confident posture, the curious gaze—everything about her hit you like a slap to the face, leaving your defenses in ruins. You tried to swallow down the sudden rush of emotions, but your throat felt locked tight. You stood there, staring at her, lost in your own shock for longer than what could be considered normal.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her voice was clear and firm, but you didn't respond. You couldn't. You were frozen, your eyes locked onto this impossible vision.

Powder.

Every single detail about her yanked you into an avalanche of memories and emotions. The resolve you had rebuilt to start your search for this so-called Jinx, the simmering resentment and complicated feelings toward Silco—all of it suddenly felt insignificant. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Nothing except the fact standing right in front of you: She was alive. 

Powder was alive. 

And she was here.

"Sorry little one, what?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Powder repeated, tilting her head to the side, her braids swaying with the motion. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to remember something. "I know you. You're my dad's company."

The statement hit you like a punch—more precisely, a punch from Vander's cast-iron gauntlets. Dad. The word echoed in your head, churning something deep inside you.

"Dad?"

Your voice came out a pitch higher, shrill with sheer disbelief. That didn't make any sense. Dad? It couldn't be. The only figure you had ever associated with that title for her was Vander. Until you remembered a small detail, one that the shock had momentarily erased from your mind.

"You're talking about Silco?"

She nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and at that moment, you wanted to slam your head against the nearest wall. Even though you had already considered this possibility from the start, having it confirmed now was still a little unsettling.

That bastard Silco, the one turning your life upside down, messing with your thoughts, and taking up more and more space in your mind, was the guardian—or worse, the adoptive father—of the girl you had been searching for since returning to Zaun. It felt like the universe was conspiring to make your life even more complicated.

"Yeah, I keep him company... hm... we're friends?" The sentence came out awkwardly, your voice sounding much more like a clumsy question than a confident statement. Perfect. Now you looked like an idiot in front of the girl.

"Silco having friends?" She laughed—a loud, genuine sound that echoed through the space, making you even more uncomfortable. "That's a good one! So, you're heading to his office to keep him company again, huh? Is it like... a meeting?"

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head slightly as you finally stopped to analyze the situation as a whole. Was it just your imagination, or was this girl interrogating you?

"You could say that." you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound casual.

"Hm..." The girl tilted her head, now looking you up and down with undisguised curiosity. "You're the prostitute."

If you weren't already shocked enough by the whole sequence of events, that sentence would have made your jaw hit the floor. However, your body still reacted. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, your cheeks started to burn, and every inch of you desperately longed to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Oh, great. Just great. Now even the kid knew you were sleeping with Silco. Perfect. Zaun might as well organize a whole procession in your honor at this point.

"Wait, do you even know what that word means?"

"Prostitute? Of course, I do! People pay you, and you keep them company. Simple." She shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world while you stood there, even more horrified. "Sevika told me."

"Oh, God..."

"How much do you charge? 'Cause Silco went crazy when you disappeared, so I'm guessing you must be pretty expensive." She took a few small steps toward you. "Come on, spill it. How much?"

Before you could open your mouth to respond—or do anything at all—a deep, unmistakable voice echoed through the room.

"Jinx."

You never, ever thought you'd be grateful for Silco's arrival, but there you were, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of his imposing figure standing in the doorway. He was motionless, his face carrying that same cold, indifferent expression as always, but his eyes were locked onto the two of you.

"What did I say about interrogating my guests?"

"You said I wasn't supposed to do that. But I was curious!" Jinx crossed her arms, pouting defiantly. "I wanted to meet her somehow since you wouldn't even let me get close when she was with you."

"Jinx." His tone was harsher now, enough to make her step back, though she didn't lose that air of petulance. "Go to your lab and do something productive with your time, since you seem to have plenty of it to waste."

The girl huffed, casting one last look in your direction before leaving—almost as if she were engraving your face into her memory—muttering something about adults being "so boring."

When Powder's—no, Jinx's—footsteps finally faded down the corridor, the silence left behind felt heavy, suffocating. It was as if the air in the room had thickened, becoming almost impossible to breathe. You, who had been frozen in place until now, finally allowed yourself to meet his eyes. But Silco was already staring at you, his gaze locked onto yours in that way he always knew how to do.

There were so many things you wanted to say, sharp words ready at the tip of your tongue, and even more things you wanted to do to him. But none of them seemed to make sense anymore. Not after seeing Powder there, calling him father. Not after realizing what he meant to her. How you wished that insane theory had been wrong.

That girl had already lost a father once. And if you tried to take her away from Silco in any way, she would hate you until the end of time. As much as you wanted to protect her—from this place, from that damned manipulator who stirred such conflicting feelings in you—something about the thought of hurting Powder stopped you.

Suddenly, none of the plans you had spent sleepless nights crafting made sense anymore.

You had been so pessimistic about this whole Powder being Jinx thing that you half expected to be terribly wrong. But you were right.

"Come with me." Silco's voice shattered the tense silence lingering between you both. He sounded so casual. "I believe you came for a meeting."

It wasn't an invitation—it was an order. As always, he didn't wait for your response. He was already turning away, walking with slow, deliberate steps toward his office. But there was an insinuation in his words that you picked up on immediately. He had heard the entire conversation. He had been there, watching, as he always did—only stepping in when he deemed it necessary.

With a resigned sigh, you shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts before following him to the office door. The emotional rollercoaster of the day had drained your strength, but giving up wasn't an option. Not now.

Your steps were cautious, almost hesitant. You moved lightly, as if each movement could trigger a hidden trap, despite having entered this room countless times before. Walking into Silco's office always felt like stepping into a predator's den.

Silco said nothing when he entered. He went straight to his desk, rummaging through something without so much as a glance in your direction. Meanwhile, you remained near the door, your mind at war with itself. Part of you wanted to charge at him—accuse him, yell, demand answers. The other part wanted to simply wait, to absorb what was happening and decide the next move carefully.

The problem was, you no longer had a plan. Everything felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, and now, all that was left was to improvise.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice when he got closer. His presence was almost silent, like a whisper in the dark. When his hand lifted toward your face, your reaction was instinctive. You pulled back quickly, like a wild cat sensing a threat, your eyes locked onto him with a mix of distrust and surprise.

"You're bleeding."

It wasn't a question, nor a statement of concern. It was simply an observation, a fact he had noticed and was acknowledging. That's when you saw what he was holding. A white handkerchief, folded with precision, rested in his hand.

Your fingers brushed against your forehead, exactly where the metallic monkey had struck you. You felt the warm, damp surface, and when you pulled your hand back, you saw the red staining your fingertips. Curiously, you hadn't even realized you were bleeding, much less felt the cut open or the blood trickling down. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the emotional turmoil was dulling the physical pain.

"I didn't know you liked playing nurse." you teased, attempting to ease the discomfort with a touch of sarcasm. Your eyes studied him briefly, trying to decipher the reason behind his gesture. It was unsettling. Silco—the man who never hesitated to get his hands bloody, both literally and metaphorically—was now standing there, offering to clean your wound.

"I don't want more blood staining my carpet." His voice was cold, razor-sharp. "That would be inconvenient."

You rolled your eyes despite the icy tone of his words. You knew it was a lie. If the only issue was blood on the carpet, he would have just tossed the handkerchief at you and been done with it, instead of bothering to clean the wound himself.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you felt your shoulders gradually relax. It was strange—unsettling, even—to have Zaun's most notorious crime lord tending to a superficial wound, one that, ironically, had been inflicted by the very child he had chosen to take in.

"That would be inconvenient, but deliberately hiding your daughter isn't." Your voice came out firm but measured, as if testing the limits. You knew Powder wasn't his daughter, but Silco didn't know that you knew. Keeping up the illusion of ignorance seemed like the safest choice for now.

He paused for a split second—almost imperceptibly—before continuing to dab the cloth against your skin.

"I believe I've already told you that there are things that do not concern you."

"Oh, of course." you shot back, a dry chuckle escaping your lips. "Because you're so good at keeping secrets. Nothing you do ever reaches the wrong ears, does it?"

The smile he gave you was barely perceptible but utterly devoid of warmth. More of a silent warning than an act of camaraderie. "Watch your words, dove. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the implicit threat. "And some questions, when avoided, only make the answers more obvious."

For a moment, silence settled over the room, so thick that you could hear both his breathing and your own. He resumed cleaning the wound with the same deliberate care, but something in the air had shifted. A new tension, heavier now, as if the two of you stood on opposite sides of a chessboard where every move had to be calculated with precision.

"She is none of your concern." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low, nearly a whisper, yet weighted with finality.

"But I deserve to know." you countered, your voice carrying a boldness that bordered on reckless. "After all, I'm fucking her father."

The reaction was immediate. Silco's hand, which had been holding the cloth, pressed down harder than before, drawing an involuntary shudder from you. The pain was sharp, radiating through your body, and when you instinctively tried to pull away, his other hand was already in motion. Strong fingers clamped around your jaw, forcing you to stay still despite the throbbing discomfort. His gaze burned like liquid fire—freezing you in place even as a wave of heat crashed over you from the sheer force of his intimidation.

"I warned you to be careful with your words."

You finally fell silent. The pain and the implicit warning in his gestures were enough to shut your sharp tongue—at least for now. You knew you had crossed a line with your words, but something about the way he reacted made part of you want to push even further. Not out of pure provocation, but to understand just how far he was willing to go to protect what he held so dear.

The grip on your face gradually loosened, but not in a comforting way—it was deliberate, almost cruel, reinforcing his dominance over the situation. Even so, you forced yourself to remain quiet, swallowing the bitter taste of wounded pride as he finished tending to you with mechanical efficiency.

Your eyes studied him with curiosity. Silco had that neutral, almost cold expression, his jaw tense, his hands moving as naturally as breathing. It wasn't hard to imagine that he had cleaned blood countless times before—his own or someone else's. This wasn't new to him; it was routine.

When he finally stepped back, dropping the bloodstained cloth onto the worn wooden desk, the tension between you didn't fade. He exuded authority, even in silence. With a quiet grunt, he settled into his chair but didn't bother looking at you right away.

"Stay away from her." His voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade. No raised tone, no dramatics, yet it carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore. "I won't say it again."

"You think I'd be capable of doing anything to her?"

Before you even realized it, your steps had carried you closer. You stopped in front of the desk, leaning slightly over it, using the surface for support as you studied him. Silco lifted his chin to look at you, his heterochromatic eyes locked onto yours. That gaze was a mix of exhaustion and irritation, but above all, he didn't seem the least bit impressed by your boldness. There wasn't even a flicker of discomfort in his expression.

"If I thought you were a real threat, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Before you could respond, he pulled the revolver from his holster with an unsettling calm, as if the motion was as casual as adjusting his tie. The weapon gleamed under the greenish light of the room, heavy and deadly, and he placed it on the desk with a sharp clack. The barrel was pointed directly at you—a tangible reminder of his quiet threat.

"She is off-limits. Understood?" His voice was unwavering. "So don't make me punish you for your insistence on this matter."

An image flooded your mind, vivid as if it were happening at that very moment. Silco in the shadows, watching. His eyes sharp and cold, finger always near the trigger, studying your every move as you interacted with Powder—no, with Jinx, as he preferred to call her now. It was evident that Jinx put him on the defensive. No matter what the two of you had built together—a contract, a twisted relationship, an intimacy that wavered between his absolute control and your calculated provocations. There were limits he would never let you cross.

Perhaps she was his only weakness, the one point where he allowed no concessions. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely why he was so determined to draw that invisible line between you now.

For now, you decided to comply with the order. There was no need to raise suspicion—not yet, at least. Either way, reaching Powder without Silco knowing seemed more like a matter of opportunity than skill. A new plan was beginning to take shape in your mind: make the girl trust you enough to... well, what came after that was still a mystery. That was a problem for the future. Right now, the focus was on softening Silco's suspicion, regaining the privileges he had stripped away, and paving the way for your next move.

"How was it with Singed?"

Silco's voice cut through the silence as he picked up a document from a neatly stacked pile on his desk. His tone was so casual it almost made it seem like the previous conversation hadn't happened.

"Did he say anything different?"

"No." You replied, stepping away from the desk. With a heavy sigh, you pulled out a chair and sat down, hands resting on the armrests as you observed Silco. "For how much longer will I have to keep seeing him?"

"For as long as necessary."

He didn't even lift his eyes to you, his long, precise fingers flipping through the pages before him with an exaggerated concentration—almost as if he were deliberately ignoring your presence.

He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

"But—"

"No buts." 

Silco cut you off before you could finish the sentence, his voice firm yet calm, like the sound of a door closing with a muffled slam.

You felt your teeth clench. His response was sharp and final, and the obvious disinterest as he remained buried in his paperwork was almost a provocation. Frustration mingled with the tension already hanging in the air, and you had to control yourself not to let it show just how much it bothered you.

"This is getting ridiculous." you muttered, more to yourself, but deliberately loud enough for him to hear.

This time, Silco lifted his eyes. For a moment, they gleamed with something between exhaustion and annoyance, and you realized you had managed to get a reaction out of him.

"Ridiculous would be allowing you to continue questioning my decisions." His reply was quiet but carried the weight of a veiled threat. "You're here to serve a purpose, not to negotiate the terms of it."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something in his gaze made you hesitate. It wasn't fear—you weren't foolish enough to fear him in that way—but there was a line that even you knew better than to cross. Besides, the fact that he had used the word "purpose" made you feel strange... though irritated would be the best way to describe your current emotions.

So instead of retorting, you simply leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "As you wish." you murmured, unwillingly, but making it clear that you weren't satisfied.

It felt like an eternity passed in that uncomfortable silence between you. The only sound was the breathing of both of you, an almost synchronized melody, but heavy with a tension that filled the room like toxic gas. Silco didn't look at you directly, keeping his focus on his work. You had clashed before—many times—and ever since you had woken from the coma your own body had imposed on you, these exchanges had become more frequent. However, something had been different in the past few days. Colder. Distant.

In fact, ever since that morning when the two of you had slept together, he seemed to have closed himself off, and it had remained that way for the past three weeks. It was as if something inside him had cracked—or hardened. He no longer touched you the way he used to, nor were there the sharp, biting remarks that had once been a part of your dynamic. Even when he announced that your privileges had been revoked, he did it as if he were informing just another subordinate.

You didn't fight the decision at the time. There was no point in waging a war with a predetermined ending.

Now, everything was methodically controlled. He summoned you to his office, yes, but the interaction was cold, almost clinical. You spent hours by his side, yet you felt more like a piece of furniture than someone he shared even the slightest warmth with.

Maybe he was still angry. At you, at everything. When Silco was angry, everyone felt it. His rage was a living presence, infecting any space he stepped into. It was impossible not to notice his foul mood, especially because it made him unbearably meticulous and unbearably critical.

Of course, deep down, you knew it was your fault. If you hadn't run away, none of this would've happened. But you didn't regret it. Not one bit. Why should you? There was no room for regret in your mind. Still, something inside you longed for this phase to pass.

You wouldn't admit it, not even under torture, but you missed it. You missed the Silco who responded to your provocations, who played along with that spark of something you couldn't quite name. You missed the Silco who looked at you with those eyes full of intention, leaving the impression that, no matter how cold and unpleasant he was, he wasn't completely impenetrable.

You shook your head slightly, pushing the thought away. No, you didn't miss it. And you would keep denying it until the very idea was suffocated by the same oppressive silence filling the room.

The sound of his sigh cut through the silence, long and heavy, as if carrying the weight of something too burdensome for the world to bear. It was the only sign that he was finally giving in to the tension accumulating in the air. Then, Silco slowly turned his chair, his narrowed eyes fixed on you. That gaze was nearly unreadable, but you could sense an intent behind it—something he had kept buried for weeks.

"I believe you should know who ordered your kidnapping." His voice had lost some of its usual harshness, softening just enough to sound like a command disguised as a request. "I want the names."

Ah, of course, there was also that.

All these weeks since you woke up, he had never brought it up. Never pressed you for information or questioned your involvement. It was unsettling, actually. You had expected a meticulous interrogation, sharp questions about who you were, why this had happened, and who was behind it. But he did none of that.

Silco had treated the kidnapping as an insignificant detail, almost as if... he already knew something about it. About you.

That thought had always lingered in your mind, but you never dared to voice it. Still, the lack of distrust only made the situation more unsettling.

"You won't be able to reach them." Your voice was firm—not just a statement, but a fact. "You have no power in Piltover, Silco."

As expected, he didn't seem remotely irritated by your defiance. On the contrary, there was a predatory calm in his eyes, as if he were already two steps ahead, anticipating your every reaction. He rose from his chair with that calculated elegance only he could manage, the sound of his boots against the floor filling the space as he approached.

When he stopped beside you, Silco leaned in slightly, tilting your chin upward with the touch of two fingers. A light touch, yet one that exuded authority—though, somehow, it still held a trace of gentleness. He tilted his head, his eyes piercing into yours as if he could rip the answers straight from your soul.

"Don't burden that pretty head of yours with such details. Just give me the names."

The tone was undeniably authoritative, but there was something in the way he spoke—that unwavering confidence, as if every word was a promise of an inevitable future—that made you hesitate. You stepped back slightly, not out of fear, but out of instinct, like someone who recognized they were standing before something far greater than they could control.

You knew Silco ruled Zaun with an iron fist. His eyes were everywhere, his spies in every alley, and his orders were rarely disobeyed. But Piltover was a different story. You knew that, you were sure of it... or at least you thought you were.

"There was a secretary, maybe an assistant, I don't know. Cayden. From what I remember, he was sponsored by the Hoskel family."

"Anyone else?"

"He was the only one in a higher position that I knew of."

"Good." Silco nodded, as if he had already calculated everything in his mind, and turned calmly toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. "You're dismissed."

His words set off an alarm inside you, an immediate sense of danger that made you rise from your chair before you even realized it. "You're not planning something, are you?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but he didn't seem to notice—or care enough to respond.

Silence. A crushing silence.

You clenched your fists, abandoning any attempt to keep your composure. "You do know the Hoskel house is on the Piltover Council, don't you? If you try anything, it'll lead to retaliation. Zaun doesn't stand a chance against Piltover, and we both know it!"

Still, Silco didn't turn around. He remained by the window, staring down at the streets below as if his vision alone could shape the future. But you saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly at your words. He wasn't the type to tolerate doubt about his authority or power. No. He truly believed that Zaun not only could stand against Piltover but that it would one day surpass it.

Great. Not only was he egotistical, but he was delusional too.

"I said: you're dismissed."

You glared at him, hesitating for a moment. Every fiber of your being told you to push further, to insist—but deep down, you knew he wouldn't change his mind. Not now. So, against your will, you turned and walked toward the door, trying to contain the anger burning inside you. But just before leaving, you stopped, your hand hovering over the doorknob.

"This isn't your fight, so think carefully about what you're willing to risk for it." You paused, letting the weight of your words linger in the air. "You've already done enough damage to Zaun."

Silco's Pov━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silent treatments, in general, were a foolish strategy with Silco. 

First, because ignoring someone like him was practically suicidal. Second, because for a silent treatment to be even remotely effective, Silco would have to actually want to interact, to feel the urge to speak, or at the very least, to sense a need to break the silence. And that was nearly impossible. Silco wasn't known for being friendly, much less for enjoying idle conversation. He simply didn't have the time or the patience for it.

In the life he had chosen, friendships were dangerous luxuries—sharp knives that could pierce his back at the first opportunity. He knew this better than anyone. Trust was not something Silco handed out carelessly. Not anymore.

But with her, the rules seemed different.

It had been three days since their last encounter in his office, when the atmosphere had taken a tense turn. She had chosen a childish, prideful approach—complete denial of any words or gestures directed at him. And strangely enough, it worked. Silco, who would normally ignore such behavior without a second thought, found himself stewing over her silence as if it were a new kind of torture.

Not that he intended to do anything to fix the situation.

Both of them were far too stubborn to be the first to give in, each waiting for the other to break. Silco knew she was expecting something more—perhaps an apology, or at the very least, a kinder gesture than the way he had been treating her for the past few days. And maybe... maybe he should offer her that.

But how could he possibly mask his discontent?

He was already grappling with his damn confusing feelings ever since that morning in his bed, the unease of his men regarding her presence, and now this unexpected meeting. Everything he had meticulously planned had been derailed by an encounter he had worked so hard to avoid—her and Jinx, face to face.

The interaction had been brief, almost insignificant, yet it left an undeniable mark.

What truly caught his attention wasn't her behavior itself, but the way her shock seemed to overflow—something disproportionate to the situation. It was natural for her to be surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but there was something in that look.

It wasn't just curiosity or apprehension. It was as if she were standing before someone she knew—someone from her past. Her expression was heavy with recognition. A recognition that made no sense.

Silco had done his homework, as he always did. He knew every detail of her past that could be known. She had no connection to anyone in Jinx's circle—not now, not before. Their worlds had never crossed, at least not in any way he had access to. And yet, there was something in the way she had reacted that shattered all of that.

As if she were staring at a ghost.

Silco didn't like gaps. He didn't like unanswered questions. He knew that information was the most powerful weapon, and in Zaun, where alliances were fragile and betrayals abundant, knowing more than others was the only way to stay alive. But for now, he set the questions aside. There was still time to investigate and uncover whatever the hell that woman was hiding—because, clearly, she was hiding something.

For now, however, he had other priorities. Like, for example, planning a kidnapping.

Marcus, as always, had hesitated. It was almost pathetic how much that man needed to be reminded of his place—and, more importantly, of the place he could lose. Silco knew exactly which buttons to press. He made sure to refresh the anxious Enforcer's memory about his imminent promotion to Sheriff, a position Marcus desired almost as much as he feared losing it.

Marcus's rise had been carefully orchestrated by Silco, and the thread holding him up was thin. Just as Silco had lifted him, he could just as easily let him fall.

The veiled—yet undeniably clear—threat was enough. Marcus accepted the orders reluctantly, but Silco knew the man would comply. He always did. He was the kind of man whose ambition was matched only by his fear, and Silco knew how to exploit both with precision. Now, it was just a matter of waiting. In a few days, Marcus would have information about this Cayden, and then the next move could be made.

The second priority stood before him, leaning against the railing of his room's balcony. She seemed oblivious to his presence, her gaze fixed on the frantic movement of The Last Drop below. The pulsing lights and muffled voices filled the space, but she remained detached, lost in her own thoughts. She didn't even turn to acknowledge him when he entered.

She was doing it on purpose, of course.

Silco slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the piece he had brought with him. It was a fine, delicate chain, made of pure gold, its links so small and flawless they almost seemed unreal under the light. The pendant, a small drop with a translucent lilac stone, caught the light in soft shades of purple and pink. Under the neon glow of the bar, the stone's shimmer seemed to pulse, almost resembling the hue of Shimmer itself.

Silco moved closer, his steps silent. When he stopped behind her, his chest nearly brushed against her back, and he could feel the slight tremor in her breathing. She didn't turn, but he noticed the subtle way her shoulders tensed.

With a careful movement, Silco lifted the chain, his fingers working with precision as he draped it around her neck.

He fastened the clasp with ease, but he didn't pull his hands away immediately. His fingers lingered near her skin, the warmth of it radiating toward him as the soft brush of his knuckles grazed her nape. There was something about that closeness—something intimate, something electric. He felt her body tense, as if she were fighting against the urge to yield to his touch. And he knew he could break that resistance.

But for now, he held back.

"Buying me with jewelry won't work, Silco."

"I know that." he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips—one that carried more intent than words. "But I made you break your silence, didn't I?"

When she didn't retort, Silco slowly moved to stand beside her on the balcony. He leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, his gaze drifting over the view below. Like her, he observed the club beneath them. It was a busy night.

Drink orders were being served at an impressive speed; groups formed and dissolved as people drank, smoked, or indulged in Shimmer. Some danced in the midst of the crowd, while others leaned against the walls, conversing in hushed tones that couldn't rise above the pounding music and flashing neon lights.

To most, it was the image of unrestrained chaos. To Silco, it was organized—and profitable.

"You know, a long time ago, this place was just a bar." he said, his voice low, tinged with a nostalgia so faint it was almost imperceptible. "Nothing special. Just a place for people to drink and forget their troubles for a while."

Silco leaned against the railing, his elbows resting on the polished metal, his gaze fixed on the restless crowd below. The music filled every corner, pulsing, reverberating—like a second heartbeat.

"It was a different time, a different world." he murmured, his voice low, weighted with something that almost sounded like longing. "But it had that—"

"Familiar feeling?" her voice cut in, finishing the thought, and Silco turned to her, slightly surprised.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging her insight.

"Vander had that feeling."

For a moment, something shifted in her posture. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if her mind had been pulled into a distant memory.

"You knew Vander?" Silco asked, his voice curious but laced with caution.

She gave a humorless, almost bitter smile. "Who didn't? He was the Protector of Zaun."

"I'll admit, Vander protected Zaun in his own way." Silco spoke like someone who had already chewed and digested every word before letting it out. "But he let our city stagnate, dove. He kept us trapped in a place where we could never evolve, never rise above the filth and misery we were forced to live in. He allowed Zaun to remain in Piltover's shadow, clinging to an empty promise of peace, one that could be broken in an instant if those above decided it."

Silco didn't look at her immediately, but he noticed the exact moment she turned her head, finally facing him for real. He could feel her gaze—a mixture of irritation and something else, perhaps a sliver of understanding. It wasn't the kind of attention he sought, but it would do.

"Vander did what he thought was right." she said, firm but lacking the vehemence that might have made the defense stronger. "He kept the Enforcers away."

"A temporary solution to a long-term problem."

He countered with cutting precision, leaning against the railing. His fingers drummed against the metal surface for a brief moment before stopping abruptly. He looked down at the sea of people in his club, moving as one pulsing, living organism.

"Humans have this instinctive fear of what they can't fully control." Silco continued, his voice taking on a near-philosophical tone. "Zaun isn't a city that bends to standards. It shapes itself according to necessity. It evolves, adapts. And that is exactly what makes it so unique... and so untamable."

Silco let a smile slip. Subtle, almost imperceptible—but he knew she would notice. She always noticed. Ever observant, she picked up the smallest details, even when she pretended not to care. He had meant every word he spoke. This wasn't a rehearsed speech or some manipulation; it was conviction. It was that certainty that kept him standing, even in a world that seemed determined to crush him. He believed in it the way a dreamer believes in an impossible dream.

"That's why those above treat us as unworthy of their attention. It's not just arrogance. It's strategy. It's their way of cementing their own fear. Because the moment they acknowledge us as a threat, something shifts. That idea spreads, grows, seeps into the fabric of society. They know it. They know that all it takes is a single spark to turn dust into flame."

It might have been just an impression, but there was something in her eyes that Silco noticed immediately. Beneath the mask of indifference she insisted on wearing, there was a glimmer—subtle, yet unmistakable. A flicker of something he recognized as interest.

"So, they ignore us. Treat us as irrelevant, invisible." he continued, advancing carefully, like someone who had just discovered fertile ground. "And little by little, that idea takes root inside us. We start to believe it. Believe that we are small, insignificant. That we are incapable of changing the world. And so, we accept the role they assign us."

Maybe he had touched something within her. Not much—just a spark, tiny, almost insignificant. But sparks, in the right hands, could turn into devastating wildfires. And Silco had always known how to wield the right words at the right moment.

He moved again. Silco positioned himself behind her, claiming the space with the ease of someone who already knew it was his by right. His hand slid to her waist—firm, but unhurried. The other reached for her chin, gently forcing her to look down at the club below once more.

"If a simple bar can change this much..." Silco's voice was low, almost a whisper, right at her ear. "Imagine what a city could become. Our people deserve more than just scraping by on the margins of what they could be, don't you think?"

He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a devil whispering temptations.

"We are a threat, dove."

She took a moment before responding.

"Peace imposed by force crumbles within days, Silco."

"Ah, but that's where Piltover, and you, are mistaken." Silco's voice dripped like smooth poison. "Peace is not the end. It's a convenient illusion they peddle to maintain control. What builds a lasting future isn't forced peace, it's well-cultivated fear. Piltover only respects what it cannot crush. They only yield to what makes them tremble."

Silco leaned in even closer, his lips brushing lightly against the curve of her ear. He noticed immediately how her skin reacted, the way it prickled under his proximity. It made him smile. Not an ordinary smile, but that slight curve of his lips—pure triumph.

"When they look at Zaun and see not a shadow, but something that threatens everything they have, that's when they'll recognize our true strength. We are not a dream of equality. We are the nightmare that will drag them from their throne."

The silence between them was filled with the music of the club. She was thinking, perhaps analyzing the logic in his words.

"Piltover is a fortress. A direct fight would be suicide."

Ah, she still resisted—at least in words. But her body, well, that was a different story. He felt it when she leaned in, the movement almost imperceptible, as if unconscious. The warmth radiating from her was tangible, a sharp contrast to the cold tone of her words.

Silco knew how to read the signs; her internal conflict was obvious. He could see how her morality wavered on a tightrope, caught between what she believed was right and the irresistible pull of his vision—of him.

Silco let his lips glide along her neck, tracing a slow, deliberate path. He placed light kisses and left marks where his teeth grazed the soft skin.

"And what's your suggestion, dove?"

She swallowed hard, the sound almost inaudible, but Silco felt the tension in her body when he pressed his lips against a strategic spot—right where her heartbeat pulsed the strongest. The way it quickened made him smirk against her skin. With one hand, he pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them.

"There's something both cities have in common." she finally said, her voice slightly unsteady but firm enough to catch his attention. "Their system of government. Piltover's councilors are the counterparts of Zaun's chem-barons. Both maintain their power through greed, through control. If you want to take Piltover, the only way is to destroy them. From the inside out."

Silco's eyes gleamed with interest. He pulled his lips away from her skin, but not before leaving a very visible mark there. His hand, however, remained firm on her waist, anchoring her in place.

"Elaborate."

"If you were to die, Zaun would fall into chaos. The barons would devour each other in an endless war for the position you left behind. People would be lost in that frenzy of violence, some driven by fear of dying, others by the thirst to kill. All of them desperately searching for something, a symbol, an idea that could give them hope."

The hand that had once held her chin now trailed down slowly, exploring the contours of her body, fingers tracing along her figure with a calmness that felt out of place for the feverish moment they were in. Silco felt it when she tilted her head back, granting him access as she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"And?"

"And then, someone would become that symbol. It wouldn't matter whether it was through peace or through fear. They would become something for people to believe in, an icon, an idea. And ideas..." she paused, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips parting just enough for a quiet sigh to escape. "Ideas are stronger than any power you could ever hold in your hands."

He moved closer, pressing her body against the railing of the balcony. The tension between them was palpable—every movement, every ragged breath filling the space like a silent duel. Her head tilted back even further as his lips found her neck once more. She let out a deep sigh, her fingers tightening around the cold metal railing as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored.

"Control the masses." she whispered, as if handing him a truth she knew he couldn't ignore. "Only then will you have your throne."

Silco's hand paused, his fingers hovering just a hairsbreadth away from the hem of her skirt, the anticipation of his touch a palpable, throbbing ache in the air between them. His other hand slid up her side, his palm cupping the soft swell of her breast, his thumb brushing teasingly over the hardened peak of her nipple through the fabric of her top. Silco could feel the way her heart raced beneath his touch, could hear the way her breathing grew more and more ragged with each passing second.

He nipped at her earlobe, his teeth tugging on the delicate flesh, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick. 

"How sure are you of this, dove?"

At the same time, Silco's hand slid a fraction of an inch lower, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her skirt, the tips brushing against the bare, vulnerable skin of her thigh. He could feel the heat of her flesh, the soft, silken texture that made him crave more.

"More than you think."

Silco felt a surge of triumph as he noticed her legs shifting, her thighs parting slightly to grant him access. It was a small concession, a subtle invitation. He didn't hesitate, his fingers sliding further beneath her skirt, his fingers trailing over the smooth, supple flesh until they reached the apex of her legs. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could sense the way her body trembled and ached for his touch. And as he slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties, Silco groaned at the feel of her, hot and slick and ready for him.

"Where did you learn such...things?" Slowly, almost teasingly, he traced the outline of her slit through the fabric. "Such dangerous, subversive ideas about power and control? Tell me, who put these notions in that clever, wicked head of yours?"

"At the Institute."

Her voice came out slurred, as if plucked from some distant corner of her already foggy mind. He didn't interrupt, nor did he rush her. He knew the value of well-placed silence.

"Piltover..."

She finished, her voice almost trailing off at the end. The answer hung in the air like an involuntary confession, and Silco felt the impact of it like an electric current running down his spine. Silco made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat as she blurted out her response, her guard clearly lowered by the haze of lust that clouded her mind. He filed away the information for later use.

He pushed the scrap of lace aside, slowly, almost reverently, Silco slid his fingers through her clit. He could feel the way her body clenched and fluttered around the sudden intrusion, could sense the way she struggled not to grind herself down against his palm, to ride his hand like a wanton creature in heat.

But even as he pleasured her, even as he felt her body start to tense and coil around him, Silco couldn't shake the dark curiosity that gnawed at him. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"And what other things did you learn at that... Institute, dove?" he breathed, punctuating his question with a particularly hard, deep thrust of his fingers.

"I... I don't remember..." Her voice came out broken, a barely audible whisper, as her hips began to move against Silco, as if seeking an instinctive rhythm, something she couldn't control. "Everything was confusing..."

Then she turned her face toward him, her eyes red and bright, as if holding back tears she wasn't sure she wanted to let fall. The pleasure evident on her face seemed intertwined with something else—something deeper, darker. It was regret, he realized. Not the kind of regret that came from conscious choices, but the kind that grew from wounds that never quite healed.

"Please." she begged, her voice shaking. "I don't want to remember this."

For a moment, Silco didn't answer. He just watched her, his eyes roaming over her face, and he recognized that look, that mixture of pleasure and pain. It was all too familiar—he'd carried it so many times himself over the years. "You don't want to remember." he murmured, his voice low, like a secret shared only between the two of them. "But running away from it won't erase what happened." His tone wasn't consoling. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel either. It was... direct. Ruthlessly honest. "However I can help you forget, at least for now."

He brought his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean, of savoring the taste of her arousal on his tongue, a heady, intoxicating blend of sweet and salt and something uniquely, devastatingly her. Silco groaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the taste, committing it to memory.

Then, he plunged his fingers back inside her, driving them deep and hard, the way he knew she needed, the way that made her cry out, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the night air. The balcony seemed to spin around them, the world fading away until there was nothing but the slick, obscene sound of Silco's fingers plunging into her dripping core, nothing but the way her body jerked and shuddered, nothing but the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps and ragged, broken cries.

"Remember, dove..." he breathed, punctuating his words with a particularly hard, deep thrust. "We're still in public, still out here where anyone could see..." He punctuated his warning with a slow, deliberate circle of his thumb against her aching, swollen clit. "All it would take is for someone to glance this way, to catch a glimpse of what I'm doing to you, and they'd know..."

The idea of ​​being caught, of putting on a public spectacle with his dove seemed torturously delicious. But even as he reveled in the forbidden thrill, Silco knew he had to be cautious, this sight of her was for his eyes only. So with a herculean effort, he forced himself to slow down, to temper the wild, reckless pace of his fingers with a more measured, deliberate rhythm.

"Shh... We don't want to give the crowd a show, now do we? No, this..." he breathed, his words a dark, sinful purr. "This is just for you and me. Our little secret." He nipped at her neck, his teeth tugging on the flesh gently, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick. "Now be a good girl, and keep quiet for me, hmm?"

Silco let out a low, dark chuckle as he watched she bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her lips in a desperate bid to muffle the wanton moans and whimpers that threatened to spill out. Even if the music was loud, and the people below them were completely oblivious, there was no guarantee that the noises wouldn't attract the attention of other people.

But Silco was not a man to rest on his laurels, to simply revel in the fruits of his labor without pushing further, without demanding more. No, he wanted to see just how far he could go, how close he could take her to the limit. With that in mind, Silco began to move his fingers with a newfound intensity, his hand pumping and thrusting and curling inside her with a fierce, relentless rhythm. He could feel her walls clenching and fluttering around him, could sense the way her body tensed and coiled.

And then, just as her eyes began to roll back in her head, just as her breath started to come in short, desperate gasps, Silco found it. That specific spongy, ridged spot. Silco angled his fingers just so, curling and stroking and rubbing against that spot. At the same time, the palm of his hand rubbed against her clit, always keeping up the rhythm.

He could feel her body tensing, her muscles locking, her legs in a failed attempt to close—pinning his wrist to her thighs, and her trying to pull her body away from his touch. Silco felt her flying over the edge into a mind-shattering, body-wracking climax.

Her scream of ecstasy was muffled by her own hand, her eyes squeezing shut as a gush of her hot, fragrant arousal flooded out around Silco's plunging fingers, soaking his hand, dripping down to splatter on the balcony floor below. Her body convulsed and shuddered, her hips bucking and grinding against Silco's palm as wave after wave.

But even as Silco revealed in his victory, he was not so cruel as to let her collapse in a heap on the cold, hard balcony floor. No, he gathered her limp, satiated body into his arms, cradling her against his chest, almost like a bride and taking her into the room to lay her on his bed. He would deal with the mess on his balcony later.

"Rest now." Silco murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from his forehead. "You've had a long day, and an even longer... night."

[...]

She had been growing more compliant with each passing week. Not in an obvious way, of course, but Silco recognized patterns better than anyone. It was subtle—the way her tone had lost some of its bite, how she no longer recoiled immediately at his orders, even the way her gaze held less defiance. He knew it was all part of a strategy. She was cunning, deceptive when she needed to be, and she knew how to play the game just as well as he did.

And yet, he had loosened her leash again.

There was a cruel logic to his decision—it was easier to keep the prey off guard when it believed itself free. If she truly wanted to escape, Silco knew there wasn't much he could do. Escorts, guards, traps—none of it would hold her. He had witnessed her skill before. So rather than force the situation, he simply returned the freedom they had initially agreed upon.

A month later, he knew he had made the right choice.

Of course, he never stopped watching. Carelessness wasn't in his nature, even when he made it seem otherwise. The guards' reports came in frequently, detailing her movements. Always out of her room, always walking around, observing her surroundings with an unusual attentiveness. Sometimes, she sat at the bar for long stretches, as if waiting for someone—or something. It was understandable, he admitted to himself. She had been kidnapped. Someone in her position would naturally carry a heightened sense of paranoia. Maybe that was what fed her restless energy.

But Silco knew it wouldn't last.

Not with Cayden in his hands.

Tracking him down had been a tedious task, but Marcus, as always, proved his usefulness. Memorizing his routine had been easy—he was predictable, a creature of habit. When the right opportunity presented itself, Silco hadn't hesitated to send a few of his men after him. The timing was chosen with precision—a moment of vulnerability, where any resistance would be futile.

But there was no resistance. He didn't fight, didn't beg, didn't even try to run. He simply surrendered.

That gave Silco pause. Either the man had seen this coming and accepted his fate, or—more likely—he had been instructed to let it happen. A sacrificial pawn on the board.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Silco had a narrow window of time to deal with the situation. And, as always, he already had a plan. The incident would be framed as a botched kidnapping—an unavoidable clash with the enforcers, where both the victim and the kidnappers would perish. A tragic but clean ending.

It was then, in the midst of these thoughts, that Silco noticed Sevika's presence beside him.

Silco stood at the top of the staircase, leaning casually against the railing, but his gaze was fixed on a particular point. She had been sitting at one of the tables for about half an hour, a glass resting beside her, untouched since it had been set down. She was talking to the bartender, who was busy cleaning the floor nearby. She seemed at ease, almost relaxed.

And there was one detail Silco did not overlook—she was still wearing the necklace he had given her.

"He's not going to talk." Sevika stated, extinguishing the tip of her cigarette against the sole of her boot. The action was casual, almost indifferent, as if this were just another day in her life—and, in a way, it was. "That guy's too resilient to break. But he confirmed he was the middleman."

This only reinforced what Silco had already suspected: the boy had been discarded, nothing more than a pawn sacrificed by the true mastermind. A scapegoat loyal to a master who didn't even care about him.

"It's impressive how loyal he is." Silco mused. "Even knowing that keeping quiet means his death. Blind loyalty or stupidity? Hard to say." He paused, taking another drag from his cigar and exhaling a lazy coil of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling. "Either way, he's of no use to us if he stays silent."

"You want me to get rid of him, or do you want to handle it yourself?"

"Neither you nor I. This death is not ours to claim."

"Then who will?"

Instead of answering with words, Silco raised his cigar and used it to discreetly gesture in the direction he wanted Sevika to look. She frowned, clearly confused, before turning toward where he indicated, her gaze slowly traveling until it landed on the figure still seated at the table. 

His dove didn't seem to realize she was the subject of the conversation, but her head tilted slightly in Silco's direction, as if sensing the weight of his stare. And when their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow. The gesture was subtle, a silent question—what do you want? Why are you looking at me like that?

So dangerously unaware of what he was planning.

"She will."

Part 13

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would be easily manipulated by him… By the way, did you know that the color purple has many meanings, including royalty, luxury, creativity, and mystery. It can also symbolize power, ambition, and independence. Just an addendum, Reader is not a completely good person, but I think you already knew that. So wait for the next chapters, there will be changes in our sweet dove... My classes are back, so let's hope I can keep up with the chapter frequency.

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[gingerteafairy]

Hii, you could do some Dave doing. Where the reader has curly hair, and she has always told Dave to define their curls, so one day they try it and he likes it. So every day before she goes to school she goes to his house to do it. that has a lot, a lot of lint.

I've always imagined Dave as the silly boyfriend who is so in love that he lets himself be done by his girlfriend, so why not

hi! sure, he's definitely like this. as a curly hair girl, that's basically the dream goal. hope you like it!

𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

tags n warnings: fluff, dave lizewski x reader. word count: 1.6k masterlist

Dave considered your hair a masterpiece. It was so defined, so mesmerizing. It was impossible not to want to touch it, and he felt honored to be the only person you allowed to mess up the perfect finish just a little. But he wasn’t the only one admiring the curls, because you loved Dave’s curls too, and that was exactly why you knocked on his door an hour before school.

"Babe, what the hell are you doin' here this early?" he groaned, still half-asleep, opening the door and squinting through his glasses. He had that look of someone who was very much not a morning person.

"I came to give you a really good surprise," you said, your voice full of excitement, stepping inside and immediately getting out of the freezing cold air outside.

"Really?" he perked up, rubbing his eyes as he walked past you to close the door. He came back and wrapped you up in a hug, not letting go as you made your way into the kitchen. As you walked, he inhaled deeply, clearly appreciating the scent of your curls. "What is it?"

You set the bowl on the counter and pulled off the cloth covering it. "Voilá."

Dave leaned his head over your shoulder to peek at what you were hiding. "What is this?"

"Cinnamon rolls," you explained, slipping out of his embrace and moving around the kitchen with a confidence that made it feel like you lived there—partly because you practically did at this point. You opened cabinets, pulled out flour, and grabbed a cutting board. From your backpack, you pulled out a rolling pin and a small bowl filled with a shiny, thick liquid.

"Is that the filling?" Dave asked, clearly intrigued as he leaned over to get a better look. "Smells amazing."

"Yep, we’re gonna spread it on the dough, and you’re gonna help me," you said, smiling sweetly as you motioned for him to join you. He nodded enthusiastically, ready to dive in.

Making cinnamon rolls at the crack of dawn wasn’t exactly Dave’s idea of a perfect morning, but seeing how excited you were, he felt this weird urge to get involved in your little surprise. You’d always talked about how cool it would be to cook together on a date. But really, you couldn’t have chosen a better time?

"You’re gonna roll out the dough with this pin, spread the filling, and make little rolls," you explained, demonstrating your technique.

"Like this?" Dave asked, raising an eyebrow, his hands moving with surprising skill.

"Exactly like that!" you said with a big grin, grabbing some more dough. "You’re good at this, Dave. You’ll make a great helper for my next surprise."

"Wait, there’s more?" he groaned dramatically, raising an eyebrow as he finished shaping another roll.

"Oh yeah, and the cinnamon rolls will be your reward," you teased, noticing the dough was almost finished.

"Alright, alright," he grinned, still playing along. Minutes later, the rolls were shaped perfectly, and you placed them in the oven.

"Now, Dave, we’ve got the baking time to work on the next part of the surprise. Let’s head to the bathroom," you announced with a playful glint in your eyes, heading up the stairs. Dave followed, still a little confused.

"You’re way too mysterious," he laughed, glancing at you over his shoulder as you shot him a mischievous smile. "See? This is what I’m talkin’ about."

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door behind you. You pulled your backpack off your shoulder, rummaged through it, and pulled out two containers, holding them up for him to see. "You're gonna shower and wash your hair with this."

"Is this part of the mystery, or are you gonna tell me what this stuff is?" Dave asked, his curiosity growing as he took off his glasses and set them down on the sink.

"You’ve always said you love my hair, so I figured I’d do yours the way I do mine," you said, raising an eyebrow, expecting him to catch on. But there was a clear look of confusion on his face followed by a shake of his head. "Come on, Dave. Please?" you pleaded, leaning in closer, and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes.

He squinted, pressing his lips together in thought. "Ugh... Fine, why not?" he finally agreed, flashing you a playful smile before pulling off his shirt and getting ready to hop in the shower. He glanced at you over his shoulder as he grabbed the waistband of his shorts. "Gonna stare at me the whole time?"

"I need to make sure you’re doing it right," you said with a straight face, although you could feel a smile creeping up.

Dave mumbled something about being embarrassed under his breath, pouting in that way that made you melt. You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head at how adorable he was.

"Fine, but follow the instructions. Leave the mask on for five minutes, just like it says on the package," you said, giving him one last set of instructions before closing the bathroom door.

"You got it!" he called from inside, and you walked back to his bedroom to wait for him.

You prepared everything you needed: hair cream, split-end repair serum, gel, brushes, microfiber towels—everything to make his hair look perfect. You had to admit, this was so much fun, and you were excited to see the results.

Minutes later, Dave came back, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping everywhere.

"My hair’s never been this soft, check it out," he said, pulling a lock of his hair to show you. "It’s shiny. Is there glitter in this stuff?"

"Nope, babe. Just a good treatment mask," you laughed, turning away so he could get dressed in private.

"It smells just like those cinnamon rolls you’re making," he said, pulling on the bottom half of his clothes and choosing a shirt. "You can turn around now."

You turned back around and found him sitting on the bed, looking so cute and relaxed. You sat next to him, placing all the hair tools beside him. "Why all the stuff? Don’t you just brush it?"

“No, Dave. And to be honest, I do this every time I get ready,” you laughed, starting to comb through his hair to get rid of any tangles. “My hair doesn’t just get perfect on its own, you know?”

“But it is perfect on you…” he complimented, looking up at you, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m scared I’m gonna look like a damn clown.”

“You won’t, Dave,” you giggled, grabbing a towel to dry off the excess moisture from his hair and continuing to comb. “I’ve always wanted to do this to your hair, you know? Your hair is so beautiful.”

He shook his head slightly, confused. You took some oil in your hands, rubbed it together, and spread it through the length of his hair. Then, you grabbed some cream and worked it through evenly. Finally, you picked up some gel, and Dave raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that?” he asked, his face making a disgusted cat-like expression.

“Gel.”

“I know what it is, but why do you need it?” he asked, leaning in closer to smell it.

“To make your curls last longer,” you explained, applying a little and scrunching it to enhance his curls. “Done! First part's all set.”

“First?” he asked, his voice sounding a little whiny.

You cupped his face in your hands, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away to look at him. “Just one more step and we’re done, okay?”

“That’s a low blow,” he mumbled, then laughed softly. You grabbed a towel to wipe off the cream that had dripped onto his face, then went for the blow dryer with an attachment. “Now this I have no idea what it is.”

“It’s a diffuser,” you laughed, plugging it in and adjusting the device to work on his hair. “It helps dry the curls without damaging them or making them frizzy.”

“Whoa, this is a whole new world,” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm as he soaked in every moment of this pampering session. You were close to him, giving him special attention to make sure he looked perfect.

“Finished,” you announced after a while, adding a little more split-end repair serum to loosen his curls. “Okay, you can take a look.”

You stepped back so Dave could get up and walk over to the mirror. He touched his curls, laughing lightly and admiring how they turned out. “Wow… it’s like doll hair,” he whispered, pulling at one of the curls with his hand. “It looks like yours.”

“That’s because this is how I do it,” you smiled, walking over to him. “When you do it yourself, just grab a section of your hair and roll it like a cinnamon roll.”

“So that’s why you brought me the cinnamon rolls,” he rolled his eyes, smiling at you. “You’re clever. But just one thing… don’t your arms hurt from doing all that?”

“A little, but you get used to it,” you shrugged, still admiring his curls. The timer on the oven dinged. “The rolls are ready. Let’s eat and head to school.”

“Sounds good!” Dave grinned, and you both made your way to the kitchen. Dave loved the cinnamon rolls, and as always, everything you did seemed to be perfect. You packed some of the cinnamon rolls into a bag to take to school, and Dave grinned. “If I get these rolls every time I let you do my hair, I might just go buy that infuser thing.”

“It’s diffuser,” you corrected him, laughing. “And maybe I can reward you with that.”

That ended up becoming a routine, where you would do his hair every morning before school, sometimes even doing your own hair alongside his. It was kind of a fun little ritual, especially since the day before you’d been too lazy to do yours, and you took the opportunity to spend just a little more time with your gorgeous, curly-haired boyfriend.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for Tim falling for you

Tim Bradford x reader

warnings:

a/n: im gonna be so honest i love him your honor

prompt: @sacredwarrior88: “May I please request headcanons for Tim falling in love with a female detective who's also a veteran and swore off love and relationships after her divorce?”

you’d just transferred to mid wilshire a few months prior

and from the moment tim heard you complaining about discipline and rookies needing a kick in the ass—he was head over heels

you were also a veteran, he felt a connection with you for that

he’d always make small talk with you

“so, where’d you serve?” -tim

he was cute and all, you just weren’t ready to fall in love again—or ever

“you know, i think tim really likes you, l/n” -lucy

“oh, i know” -you “you don’t become a sergeant in the army and not be able to tell when a boy has a crush on you”

“so? you don’t like him back or something. he’s a great guy, he was my TO. i mean, he’s a hard ass, but like, he’s a great guy” -lucy

“i appreciate you trying to help, but i’m not here looking for a relationship, chen” -you

harper and lopez would rag on him constantly for not making a move

“they just got here, i’ll give it a few more months” -tim

“it’s been a few months, what’s really going on?” -lopez

“yeah, bradford, i never took you for a shy guy” -harper

“we’ve been out for a few beers, it’s just…” -tim

“well, spit it out!” -lopez

“y/n just got divorced and told me they don’t want to get into anything serious—ever again” -tim

“wow, your dream partner just walks into your life and is unattainable by means of hating all men” -harper

“well, you thought you’d never find love again after your divorce and look at how far you’ve come, tim. at least give it a little time” -lopez

“isn’t that what i just said?” -tim

“i get where y/n’s coming from, though. i mean, after i got divorced i was over all men forever. now i’ve got a husband and another beautiful daughter” -harper

tim felt really discouraged, he thought you were perfect for him but he understood that dating a coworker was complicated. so was divorce

but instead of trying to get you, he tried to be there for you

“how’ve you been. new station, new city, new start?” -tim

“it’s fine. taking it day by day” -you

“you know, i could give you some good restaurant recommendations or something?” -tim

“no thanks, lucy beat you to it” -you

“of course she did. you know, she used to be my rookie” -tim

“she told me right after she told me you have a crush on me” -you

tim got red in the face very fast

and you made sure to keep your composure just long enough to make it awkward

“she…she did, did she?” -tim, through clenched teeth

“yep” -you, starting to laugh

“you’re messing with me” -tim

“i’m not, actually. i just think its cute you’re embarrassed” -you “but you already know my story”

“i do. and i hope you can take the time you need before you agree to go out with me, because i don’t think i’m gonna get you out of my head anytime soon” -tim

“ooh, sergeant bradford, i didn’t think i’d get to see this side of you. you’re always tripping over your words with me” -you

“well, i had a helpful talk with some meddling detectives” -tim

“i can take a guess who you’re referring to” -you

“i’d love to grab a beer with you sometime if you’re not ready to date yet, but i’d love to grab dinner with you if you are” -tim

“i’ll give dinner a thought, but for now drinks will do” -you

tim started treating you mostly normal and getting his confidence back since spilling his guts to you over drinks, and the girls were cheering him on every time you were within 20 feet of each other

he started treating you professionally, with a few winks and sly comments here and there

“so, you’re giving bradford a chance?” -lopez

“i’m giving a chance to giving him a chance” -you

“i feel you there, after my divorce i couldn’t imagine dating again, but i’m glad i found it in me to give my husband a chance” -harper

“he’s a good one?” -you

“eh, i’d give him a solid 6 out of 10” -lopez

“yeah? well i’ve been debating taking him up on that dinner, but that six rating really convinced me” -you

you finally found caught tim after shift and gave him the good news and he couldn’t be more excited

really, he’d been planning this date for weeks

and it went amazingly

“can i kiss you?” -tim

“only if you want to” -you

taglist: @summersimmerus //

[cayleeuhithinknott]

matt’s so grateful you’ve agreed to his deal, because he loves to show his girl off—no matter how shy you may be.

pairing: sweetheart!matt & shy!reader

matt’s waiting for you by the bedroom door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on his heels. he’s already dressed—black jeans, a sweater that hugs his broad shoulders just right, hair all tousled like he just ran his fingers through it a few too many times. he looks effortlessly good, like he always does. like he didn’t even have to try.

you, on the other hand, feel like you’re about to throw up.

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the dress you picked out earlier feeling like it’s suddenly working against you. when you bought it, you thought it was perfect—something a little different from what you usually wear, something pretty, something that made you feel…somewhat confident.

but now, standing in it, nerves curl tight in your stomach.

it’s too much. too fitted, too noticeable.

what if people stare? what if you look ridiculous? what if matt doesn’t like it?

your fingers twitch toward the hem, pulling at the fabric slightly. maybe you should just change. you could throw on a sweater and jeans and be comfortable, be invisible.

you take a step toward your closet, ready to pull the dress over your head and shove it into the back of the drawer where you won’t have to think about it again. but before you can grab anything else, there’s a soft knock at the door.

“baby?”

his voice is gentle, like it always is when he talks to you. patient. careful.

you squeeze your eyes shut for a second.

“we okay in there?”

you swallow, shifting on your feet. “yeah… just, um… i don’t—i don’t know if i should wear this.”

there’s a pause. you can hear him breathing on the other side of the door, like he’s thinking.

“can i see?”

you hesitate, staring at yourself again, debating if you should just lie and say you’re changing. but before you can decide, the door creaks open slightly, just enough for matt to peek in.

he sees you, and his brows lift slightly before his face softens like he can’t believe what he’s looking at.

“oh.” his voice is quiet, almost breathless. “oh, love, you look beautiful.”

you shift under his gaze, your fingers twisting together. “i don’t know…”

matt steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. he closes the space between you in an instant, tilting your chin up with the lightest touch so you’re looking at him.

“hey,” he murmurs. “why are you so unsure, sweetheart?”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “it just…feels like a lot. i don’t usually wear stuff like this. i feel weird.”

matt’s hands slip to your waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric, holding you there like he doesn’t want you to run.

“you feel weird?” he repeats, his lips quirking up a little. “why?”

“because…” you trail off, feeling ridiculous.

because people might stare. because you don’t know how to take compliments. because you’re scared you don’t look as good as you hoped.

but matt is looking at you like you hung the stars, and it makes all those worries jumble together and get stuck in your throat.

“what if i look stupid?” you blurt out instead, and your face burns immediately.

matt blinks once, then shakes his head, exhaling a soft laugh before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“maple,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips curving. “sweetheart. there is no universe where you could ever look stupid.”

you scrunch your nose at him, unconvinced. “you have to say that. you’re my boyfriend.”

“wrong,” he says easily. “i don’t have to say anything. but i am saying it, because it’s true.”

you peek up at him through your lashes, still a little uncertain, and he sighs playfully, shaking his head like he can’t believe he has to prove this to you.

he steps back slightly, just enough to take a slow, exaggerated look at you from head to toe. he tilts his head, squints, crosses his arms like he’s analyzing something very, very serious.

“hm,” he hums, tapping his chin. “yeah, no. you don’t look stupid. you look…” he trails off dramatically before breaking into a soft grin. “gorgeous. absolutely beautiful.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands, and he just laughs, pulling you closer again.

“i’m serious,” he insists. “you don’t have to wear it if you really don’t want to. but if you’re just nervous, i promise you, there’s no reason to be. you look incredible. i mean it.”

his voice is steady, like he’s not just saying it to make you feel better, like he actually believes it.

“you really think so?” you whisper.

matt smiles, leaning down just enough to brush his nose against yours. “sweetheart, i know so.”

you don’t respond, still chewing on your lip, and matt sighs, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“okay, how about this,” he offers. “we take a test run. we plan to go to dinner and then on a walk downtown, yes?” he asks, and you nod. “you wear it for the first half of our date, and if at any point you feel uncomfortable, i’ll take you home and you can change into something comfy, and we’ll just have a movie night, no questions asked. deal?”

you hesitate, then nod slowly. “deal.”

“good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “because i really, really want to show you off tonight.”

you flush, but his words settle something in you.

and as he takes your hand, leading you out the door, you decide—maybe just for tonight—you can believe him.

a/n: short and sweet 💖 i love this au sm. he’s so cute

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @slctsblogana @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses

[nottivagos]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT on these two possible ideas:

1) all part of nerd!reader's plot to absolutely tease / overstim jock!carlos. i...uh.. haven't full thought out this one but imagine her planning it. she knows his schedule and so she decides to put on a show, just to see how he reacts. but she didn't realize how much she would enjoy it and she ends up forgetting about carlos. so when he walks in, imagine his reaction seeing her be a mess, thinking about him. Definitely an ego boost.

2) nerd!reader is fantasizing about carlos after she gets jealous. how it all happen was that carlos invited her to a party to, you know, let loose. it's not always just studying. she declines. but as time goes on, she feels like going. not because of carlos, just to live a little. but when she arrives, everyone is absolutely wasted. guys hitting on her, people trying to dance with her. then, she sees carlos with a gorgeous girl, and the girl is super close to him, obviously flirting and carlos is just soaking up the fun and attention, enjoying the party. so, nerd!reader goes back to her dorm and is frustrated, jealous... and ends up thinking about how much she wants his attention, which ends up with her touching herself. carlos, however, noticed when she arrived and left the party so he went after her. but when he sees her moaning his name and so lost in pleasure, he just stands there, with a smirk and his hand stroking himself.

- yapping bun anon 🐇

Welcome to Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Saturday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

an: BUN ANON STRIKES AGAIN!!! i picked the second one because, ah, it is perfection. jock!carlos, oh the man you are. it was also an excuse to listen to artemas for a while so i'm happy both ways :)

You shouldn’t have gone to that party.

Carlos had practically made you go. Apparently you were being too stuck-up and needed to ‘let go’. His claims were utter bullshit, you thought. You didn’t need to ‘let go’ like he practically did every night.

So, at first you stubbornly refused like you usually did. You had to study, which was commonly your excuse for everything Carlos tried to initiate, to which he replied with an annoyed sigh and an angry mutter, followed by him rubbing a hand over his face and leaving the dorm out of irritation.

A long period of silence followed. Carlos started going out more often with his douchebag friends to train or socialise, which you didn’t care less for though. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted just so he didn’t distract you from your studies.

But there was always that nagging voice playing in the back of your mind. The urge to go, not for Carlos, but for yourself. This opportunity was like gold dust to a student like yourself, something very rare to be offered by a jock themselves, and the desire to ‘live a little’ hung heavy in your mind and physically.

A little dorm party wouldn’t hurt, surely?

Oh, how you were wrong. For a start, everyone was already nearly blackout drunk. The eyes of hungry jocks burnt into your skin as you rubbed your bare upper arm nervously. You’d never ‘dressed up’ like this before, so the eyes made you gulp anxiously as you tried to merge into the background. Sweat clung to the humid atmosphere as pounding bass blared through your ears as you tried to navigate the crowds.

It didn’t help that you wanted to find Carlos. Despite coming to the party on your own accord, there was a lowly lit flame of yearning burning in your stomach. You wanted Carlos, even if it was one little drunken moment with him.

Barging through the dancing crowds, whilst fuelled with adrenaline to find Carlos was what drove you through the party. You had to fight grabbing hands trying to get you to dance along, but however, the few sips of some strongly made cocktail you snuck on the way through was just adding to your surge of confidence.

That all shattered when you saw him with her. He was casually resting his arm against the wall as she giggled, brushing her palm playfully against his chest. She was gorgeous than you, in many more ways, as she moved to press herself against Carlos’s front, a mischievous glint glowing in her eyes.

 Her words fanned against his lips in ways you didn’t want to, the slurred murmurs made your body tense with jealousy, her nose now dangerously grazing Carlos’s as he just revelled in the drunken attention, smirking at her comments made you want to explode in fury.

The anger and bitter jealousy overwhelmed your senses as you stormed out of the party and made your way back to your shared dorm with Carlos. You couldn’t believe it. So much for literally having the audacity to ask you to come to the party just to have another woman flirt with him instead.

The desire for Carlos’s attention was overpowering as your body burnt in a fury of irritation. You’d gone out of your way to try and make an effort for Carlos to see, for that confidence to crumble and dissipate when his lips even dared to touch that bitch’s glossy, plump ones.

An agitated slam of your door was followed by you storming over to your bed, before you slumped into it, allowing the springs of your mattress to elevate you back slightly. Stirring in your anger at your situation, the desire to have Carlos’s all to yourself caused a pool of fire to begin to burn furiously in your belly.

Your hands absentmindedly followed, fingertips grazing the soft flesh underneath your shirt ever so subtly. The unmonitored movements and motions burnt your skin, the overwhelming thought of Carlos’s fingers actually being the ones trailing down your smooth stomach instead of your own to your clothed cunt made your body dangerously hungry for more.

The touches were becoming more torturous as your fantasies mixed with the growing pleasure coiling inside of you ever so tighter and intenser. They travelled down lower, coming to toy with the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your thighs, before ghosting over the wet spot on your clothed pussy. 

Gasping at the sensation, your fingertips trailed back upwards to the top of your panties, hooking at the elastic before you wiggled them down your bare legs to your ankles awkwardly. They then gradually made their way back up to your now bare pussy sensually, feeling the initial wetness coating your desperate folds.

Imagining Carlos’s fingers spreading your wetness across your yearning folds was intoxicating as you did it. Biting your lip, you teased your fingertips at the opening of your hole, feeling it hungrily try to grab at them as you pulled out.

“Carlos,” your breathy voice called out as you dipped two fingers into your weeping pussy. The feeling was electric as you started to slowly pump them in and out of you, feeling your walls desperately try to suck you in as you did so. 

A pathetic whine followed as your cheeks burnt a hot crimson, biting your bottom lip hard as you began to imagine Carlos’s fingers stretching out your hole so easily, and the way his thick accent would drawl and purr as you moaned embarrassingly at the size difference and the way he murmured swift nothings into your ear ever so smoothly.

If anything, the thoughts made you even crazier for him. You were drunk on your fantasies as your fingers found a relentless rhythm, which made you allow your now more passionate moans to ring around your dorm. You wanted Carlos— no, you needed him to touch you. 

Fuck that bitch he was talking to at the party, you craved for him to be your own. The way his lips would feel on your skin, the way the bites would be so intoxicating, the way you’d rake your fingertips through his beautiful brown hair as you both made out so passionately, the way his cock would feel inside of you for the first time, to the way your name would fall from his lips like a prayer were enough to get you entranced in your vivid dreams.

“Carlos, please,” you begged pathetically as your eyes fully closed shut, thrusting your fingers deeper into your slick cunt. “Please, Carlos, fuck me,” your begged moans became increasingly louder as your breath had began to hitch, the coil inside the bottom of your belly tightening with every inch added as you fucked yourself.

Whilst you were too caught up in your own erotica, you didn’t even suspect Carlos’s looming presence in the room. In fact, you didn’t even know that he’d gone after you when he’d seen you at the party leaving in rage, guilty for hurting your feelings with the drunk little flirt session he was having with that girl.

What he wasn’t expecting to see was you panting his name ever so desperately loud as frantic fingers pounded into your tight cunt. His brown doe eyes darkened with lust as you were too engrossed in the overwhelming pleasure of your ongoing fantasy and the crazy feeling that your fingers felt inside of you as they curled to find the spot that made you squeal.

“Carlos, fuck— You feel so good—” you staggered a strangled moan as your toes started to curl when your fingers had finally found the spot that made you see stars. 

Carlos knew it was wrong to ogle at you pleasuring yourself at the thought of him but your moans and whines of his name were like a siren’s song to his ears, drawing him in to your lust. 

His cock was already painfully hard when his hands moved ever so fast to the zipper of his jeans. Carlos then pushed his jeans down to his ankles with desperation, his boxers following immediately afterwards as he let his erection spring free against his clothed torso. 

At this point, you were dripping onto the bed sheets below you, hips jerking slightly upwards to create more stimulation and friction. Your thumb found your clit, rubbing against the sensitive ball of nerves also, whilst your eyes squeezed shut. You could sense your inevitable climax, as your cheeks burnt all whilst your chest rose erratically with each breath and pant you took.

Carlos groaned lowly in response to the sight he was witnessing, as he started to spread the pre-cum leaking from his angry, red tip with his thumb. He smirked as you let out another few breathy gasps, before he began to pump his shaft almost immediately after.

Your fingers began to pound even more erratically as you felt your high coming. A pierced moan escaped your lips as you screamed, “Carlos!” as the high you desperately craved finally hit you like a wave.

Your body spasmed slightly with pleasure as your cunt clenched around your fingers, soaking them with your dripping essence rushed out of your pussy like a waterfall. The smirk on Carlos’s face grew as you rode out your high. He continued to stroke himself, half-lidded eyes glued to your flushed state as your eyes slowly fluttered open after you removed your wet fingers from your slick hole.

Mind hazy, you blinked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. Your chest heaved as you tried to gain some kind of composure, upon looking down your eyes widened at Carlos lurking in the walkway, just naturally jerking himself off.

“Carlos?!” you squeaked out in embarrassment. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you asked whilst frantically looking for the sheets to cover yourself up with.

“I think I should be the one asking you that question,” he gritted out, continuing to wank off himself as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Do you know how fucking worked up I am right now?” he asked, his words had a bite to them, “me estás matando aquí, cariño,” he muttered, shaking his head as his hardened cock twitched angrily.

“Carlos,” you began to explain, “I didn’t mean to I—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, pumping ever so furiously before he also rode out his release with a groan, the cum spilling from his penis that coated his fingers with ropes of white.

He then grabbed a tissue from the tissue box on the desk before cleaning his release off of his hand. After, he looked at you, who was looking embarrassed and bashful from what you’d done, before he walked over to your bed, crawling on top of you as you stayed underneath the covers.

“Who knew the nerd had a secret lust for me, huh?” He whispered ever so thickly against your lips, the words causing his hot breath to fan across them. “Next time you do this,” he mumbled, nose coming to graze against your own, “I’m going to be the one inside of you making you scream out my name. Got that?”

like jock!carlos? fancy sending me an ask in my inbox so you can be included in my notebook! - notti <3

[until-the-house-shakes]

Crush (part 2)

Wolfstar Raising Regulus / werewolf! Regulus / Bartylus

-

It was a cold November morning during their fourth year the day Barty decided to be brave.

He had this stupid crush on his roommate, Regulus, since the beginning of their first year, and while he thought he was totally cool about it- Evan and Pandora begged to differ and told him he had to tell Regulus about it or stop gushing about him in private.

Which was really unfair in his mind.

He spent the last four years being perfectly normal about his crush in private and now he has to tell him? What type of sick prank is this?

Barty was sure that Regulus did not feel the same about him. Firstly, he was closer to Evan than he was to Barty, so that’s already a strike against the brunette. Secondly, he never laughed at Barty’s jokes. He just stared at him like he was an idiot. Sure everyone else did the same, but it hurt when Regulus did it.

Strike number two.

The third strike, and maybe the biggest in Barty’s opinion, was that Regulus refused to date anyone because of his ‘furry little problem’. During their second year of school, Barty, Evan, and Pandora figured out that their dear friend was secretly a werewolf, and from that day on, helped him however they could. They even went as far as learning to become animagi during their third year, because they learned it could help Regulus. Sure it pissed off professor Lupin because it was ‘dangerous’ and ‘really fucking stupid of them’ but hey! Now Regulus was able to spend full moons with his friends and dad, instead of with his dad alone.

Regulus made it clear to his friends and guardians that he had no interest in dating someone. That his illness only added difficulties to any possible relationship, and he didn’t see any reason to go through such hardship for a ‘mediocre partner’.

Barty had every single odd against him. He wasn’t Regulus’ favorite friend, they didn’t have much in common, and Regulus refused to date anyone. But maybe, just maybe, Barty could be the exception. Regulus didn’t want to date anyone because he didn’t want to go through the hurdles of coming out as a werewolf or lying to them every month. Barty understood the sentiment, however, if a possible date were to already know about the lycanthropy, (and help out each full moon) then there should be no problem.

At least that’s what Barty hoped.

“Hey, do you have any plans for this weekend?” Barty asked Regulus, sitting on the boy’s bed while the other flipped through some quidditch magazine. For the first time in a week, the two boys were all alone in their dorm, and Barty was finally going to take the opportunity and ask Regulus out.

Well, he was also threatened by Evan and Panda to either ask him out by this weekend, or suffer some weird punishment, and while Barty was curious, he found a date with Regulus much more enticing than the threat.

“Dad and I planned on seeing pa in Hogsmeade. Want to come with?” Regulus asked, not looking up from his magazine.

“Oh uh.. yeah I.. I would like that. Wait, don't your dads hate me?” Barty was never the parent’s favorite friend. It was a fact he came to quite enjoy about himself, but when it came to Regulus’ dads, he wished they would at least tolerate him. He did perfectly in Remus’ classes and always treated Regulus like an angel! What more could they want from the fourteen year old?

“They don’t hate you. They’re just protective of me, and you like to get into trouble. That’s all.” Regulus giggled. Gods. If Barty could record that giggle and keep it playing all day every day, he would.

“Well.. maybe I shouldn’t intervene on father-son time. Besides, I kind of wanted it to be just us.” Great, now Barty was starting to get shy. Why couldn’t this be easier? He was normally a confident kid, but the second Regulus looked at him with his innocent grey eyes, and perfect pink lips- all his confidence went out the window and he was just a shy, awkward kid.

“Barty… are you trying to ask me out on a date?” Finally Regulus put his magazine down and looked at Barty. As much as Barty loved it every time Regulus looked at him, he wished the werewolf would stop doing that. Having his eyes locked on his, made breathing and thinking very hard to do.

“… maybe.” Barty squeaked out, feeling his face flush. This could not be going further from what Barty original planned. He was meant to simply ask Regulus out, get rejected, and move on. This long, drawn out, tortuous conversation, was not supposed to be happening.

“Okay. We can have lunch together and I’ll have dinner with my dads.” Regulus shrugged, getting off his bed to grab his quidditch supplies.

Wow. That was easy.

Wait.

“Wait actually? You want to go on a date with me?” Barty asked, making sure this wasn’t some sick prank or awful dream. He would be so pissed if this was a dream.

“I know I said I didn’t want to date anyone… but you’re different. So sure. I’ll go on a date with you, but don’t make me regret it.” Regulus glared at him before leaving their dorm room to get to practice.

Barty simply stared at the closed door in awe.

He had a date with Regulus Black.

An actual date.

He had to tell everyone.