#ON A SPRINT LAP on a cool down lap

[jungwnies]

TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND | "suspect...."

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : "suspect..." trend

୨ৎ : genre : humor ୨ৎ : tws : teasing ୨ৎ : word count : 2344

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : race weekend !!

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max had just finished dinner, comfortably tangled up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap. you were scrolling through tiktok, barely paying attention, until a trend made you grin. a couple was chasing each other, shouting their most embarrassing secrets. you nudged max, holding up your phone.

"this feels very us," you teased.

he glanced at the screen, smirking. "you just wanna air my dirty laundry, huh?"

"and yours is so juicy," you shot back. "come on, let's do it."

outside under the porch light, you hit record. the night air was crisp, but max was already loosening up, stretching like he was about to hit the track. "i'll go first," you announced, and before you could blink, max bolted.

"suspect has lucky race underwear and acts like it's the end of the world if they're missing!" you yelled, chasing after him.

he whipped around, laughing so hard he nearly tripped. "okay, rude! that's classified intel."

you handed him the phone as you jogged ahead. "your turn."

max didn't hesitate. "suspect raids the pantry at 3 a.m. like a gremlin and blames it on 'sleepwalking.'"

"i do sleepwalk!" you gasped, laughing as he sprinted closer.

you grabbed the phone back, turning the camera on him. "suspect sings way too passionately to abba in the shower and denies it when I catch him."

max froze mid-step, glaring playfully. "low blow." then, with a grin, he snatched the phone and chased you down the driveway.

"suspect still sleeps with a stuffed panda named mr. wuffles—and argues with him like he's real."

you shrieked, lunging for the camera, tackling max to the ground. the two of you collapsed in a heap of laughter, the phone still recording as you tried to catch your breath.

"mr. wuffles doesn't deserve this slander," you mumbled into his shoulder.

max grinned, brushing hair out of your face. "neither do my lucky boxers."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you and lewis were lounging by the pool under a canopy of string lights, the cool night breeze carrying the soft ripple of water. roscoe was stretched out on a lounge chair, his head resting on a cushion like he owned the place. lewis was reclined next to you, scrolling through his phone, his fingers absently drumming to the beat of the music playing from a nearby speaker.

you were curled up with your phone, scrolling through tiktok when a trend made you snort—a couple chasing each other, shouting out each other’s most embarrassing quirks. you nudged lewis, holding the screen up for him to see.

“this feels like something you’d absolutely crush me at,” you said, laughing.

he glanced over, his lips curving into that playful smile that made your stomach flip. “oh, no doubt. but do you really wanna go there?”

you grinned, hopping off the lounge chair. “game on.”

lewis chuckled, setting his phone down and standing up, stretching like he was warming up for a race. roscoe gave a sleepy glance but didn’t move.

“ladies first,” lewis said, gesturing dramatically.

you hit record, backing away as he smirked. “suspect can’t go two days without FaceTiming roscoe when he’s away, and yes, he gives him motivational speeches.”

lewis burst into laughter, jogging after you. “don’t call me out like that—roscoe’s a star athlete in his own right!” he grabbed the camera and started walking backward. “alright, my turn.”

you crossed your arms, pretending to look unfazed as he started recording. “suspect spends more time perfecting their smoothie recipes than I spend in the gym. and they still taste like fruit soup.”

you gasped, laughing as you chased him across the patio. “they’re healthy! and delicious!”

“sure, chef,” he teased, holding the camera high above your head.

you managed to snatch it back, breathless. “suspect has an alarm on his phone labeled ‘manifest greatness,’ and I caught him chanting along to it last week.”

lewis stopped, doubling over in laughter. “okay, first of all, it works!” he protested, grabbing the camera back. “but suspect won’t admit they cried during a kids movie last weekend.”

“it was Marley & Me! what do you want from me?!” you shrieked, laughing so hard you stumbled.

roscoe finally lifted his head, giving you both a look of mild disapproval before going back to sleep. the two of you collapsed on the pool deck, gasping for air as the camera captured your laughter under the lights.

ʚ・george russell

you and george were out in the garden under the string lights, leaning against the picnic table as the evening settled in. you were scrolling through tiktok when a video of a couple exposing each other’s quirks made you laugh.

“think you could handle this?” you asked, showing george.

he smirked. “you’re playing a dangerous game.”

you hit record and stepped back. “suspect triple-checks his hair in every mirror before leaving the house, even for groceries.”

george laughed, jogging after you. “it’s called standards,” he countered, grabbing the phone. “suspect once demanded a rematch at mini golf because the wind was ‘unfair.’”

“it was!” you protested, chasing him.

snatching the phone back, you grinned. “suspect listens to dramatic orchestra scores like they’re in a movie montage.”

he groaned, laughing. “oh hush! suspect talks in their sleep about ordering pizza and existential philosophy.”

you gasped, collapsing onto the bench in laughter as george sat beside you, flipping the camera toward you both.

“lesson learned?” he teased.

“you’re obsessive,” you said.

“and you’re chaos,” he shot back with a grin.

“and yet, it works,” you replied, leaning into him as he ended the video.

ʚ・carlos sainz

you and carlos had just finished a game of tennis in the backyard, both of you sweating and laughing as you collapsed onto the grass. the sky was fading into a deep blue, the evening still warm. carlos tossed his racket aside, stretching with a satisfied groan, while you grabbed your water bottle.

“you know, i think i’ve got you beat this time,” you said, grinning between sips.

“you wish, mi amor,” carlos laughed, shaking his head. “i let you win on purpose. i’m a gentleman.”

“uh-huh, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you teased.

you pulled out your phone, noticing a trend on tiktok—a couple running around, calling out each other’s quirks. you nudged him, showing him the video.

“come on, let’s do it. i bet you’ve got some embarrassing stuff to share,” you said.

“oh, i’m sure you’ve got more embarrassing things than me,” he grinned. “alright, let’s do it. i’m ready.”

you hit record, stepping back with a playful smirk. “suspect uses way too many spices when cooking and ends up burning half the meal every time.”

carlos laughed, raising his hands in defense. “hey, a little smoky flavor never hurt anyone!” he grabbed the phone and pointed it at you. “suspect always loses their keys and blames it on me, even when i’m nowhere near them.”

“because you always steal them!” you shot back, chasing him around the yard.

he stopped, turning to face you. “suspect watches motivational videos, then complains about doing chores two minutes later,” he teased, laughing.

you gasped, nearly dropping the phone. “i’m just… i’m saving my energy for the important stuff!”

carlos smirked, taking the phone back. “suspect can’t make it through a single movie without falling asleep halfway through. i’ve seen it!”

“i’m relaxing, okay?” you said, laughing as you tried to catch up with him.

carlos finally collapsed next to you on the grass, both of you laughing, as he turned the camera toward you both.

“well, that was fun, amor,” he said, grinning.

“you’re a menace,” you teased.

“and you love me for it,” he replied with a wink, before ending the video.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you and charles were in the kitchen, the scent of fresh-baked cookies filling the air as you waited for them to finish baking. with the oven timer ticking down, you two decided to kill time. charles was leaning against the doorframe of the hallway, his dog leo sprawled out on the floor at his feet, looking up at you both with a relaxed expression.

“okay, so what should we do while we wait, mon chéri?” charles asked, his gaze playful. “i’m not just gonna stand here, you know.”

you grinned, glancing around the hallway. “well, we could always play that tiktok game i showed you last week. i bet you’ve got some embarrassing habits i can call out.”

charles raised an eyebrow, glancing at leo, who was lazily licking his paws. “you think i’m embarrassed by anything?”

“oh, definitely,” you teased, pulling out your phone. “you’ve got some quirks.”

“alright, fine,” he grinned, crossing his arms. “let’s do it, but no making fun of me too much, mon amour.” he tells you kissing the top of your head before you both make your way to the hallway. 

you hit record, stepping back with a smirk. “suspect has a very specific routine for his coffee, and gets very upset if it’s made wrong.”

charles laughed, shaking his head. “that’s not a secret, amour. i like my coffee just right, nothing wrong with that.” he grabbed the phone and pointed it at you. “suspect spends way too much time scrolling through food videos but never actually cooks anything.”

“hey!” you protested, laughing. “i get inspiration!”

“ah, i know you too well,” he teased. “suspect also insists on getting up in the middle of the night for snacks, but never remembers what they actually wanted.”

“i don’t even want to hear it,” you shot back. “suspect can’t even make it through a day without getting at least five different snacks. i’ve seen it with my own eyes!”

“hey, i’m a growing boy,” charles grinned. “i need my fuel. you, on the other hand… suspect has to try to make food, but ends up burning everything and then calling me to save you.”

“sure, sure,” you teased. “suspect also has to ask for everyones opinion before making a decision about anything.”

“it’s called being thorough,” he grinned.

“right, thorough,” you laughed. “suspect spends way too long staring at himself in the mirror after a race, making sure everything’s perfect for the cameras.”

charles laughed, shaking his head. “okay, that’s fair. but you talk to leo like he’s a person, and i swear, he knows all your secrets.”

“leo’s my best friend!” you protested, laughing.

“and he knows you better than you know yourself,” charles teased.

“oh, don’t even!” you laughed. you lunged for the phone, laughing, but charles held it just out of reach.

“oh no, i’m not done with you yet,” you teased, but charles just grinned, lowering the camera as leo wagged his tail.

“well, that was fun,” charles said, still grinning as he scratched leo behind the ears.

“you’re impossible,” you teased, nudging him.

“and you love me for it, mon chéri,” he replied with a wink, turning off the camera.

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando had just finished messing around on his sim, and now you were sitting on the floor of the hallway, sharing a bowl of popcorn. the soft glow of the hallway light made the moment feel cozy, but lando, being lando, was already up to something.

“have you seen this?” he asked, holding up his phone to show you a tiktok of people calling out their partners' embarrassing habits. his grin was wide, already plotting.

“don’t even think about it,” you warned, narrowing your eyes.

“too late,” he said, opening the app and hitting record. “alright, suspect loves to smack talk during karting, but can’t stop spinning out when things get competitive.”

“you’re so full of it!” you laughed, grabbing the phone. “suspect sets five alarms every morning and still manages to be late.”

lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “i’m just not a morning person, alright?”

“and yet, you have no problem staying up all night playing video games,” you shot back, aiming the phone at him again.

“because i’m a gamer,” he grinned, grabbing the phone back. “suspect refuses to admit they’re bad at fifa, even though i’ve beaten you like, ten times in a row.”

“that’s because you cheat! i swear your controller’s rigged!”

“sure, blame the controller,” he teased, flipping the camera to you. “suspect also eats all the snacks during a movie and then pretends they don’t know where they went.”

you gasped. “i get hungry! and you don’t even share your chips properly.”

“because you take the big ones,” lando said, shaking his head. “suspect also hides my hoodies and claims they don’t know where they are.”

you smirked. “they just mysteriously end up in my closet. weird, huh?”

“you’re unbelievable,” he laughed, setting the phone down as you both leaned back against the wall.

“you love it,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

“yeah,” he said, grinning at you. “i do.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were out on the back deck, the sun dipping below the horizon as the brownies you’d baked earlier cooled inside. the soft hum of cicadas filled the air, and oscar was stretched out on a lounge chair, tossing a tennis ball up and catching it lazily.

“so, how long until we can eat them?” he asked, tilting his head toward the kitchen window.

“not long,” you replied, scrolling through your phone. then, a tiktok caught your attention—a couple roasting each other’s quirks. you grinned, holding it up to oscar. “wanna try this?”

he sat up, catching the ball one last time. “you’re really inviting chaos, huh? alright, let’s go.”

you hit record and pointed the phone at him. “suspect leaves half-finished cups of tea everywhere and then wonders why we have no clean mugs.”

“because tea gets cold too quick!” oscar said, snatching the phone. “suspect insists they’re an expert at driving but screams every time i take a corner a bit fast.”

“because you drive like it’s the grand prix!” you laughed, taking the phone back. “suspect uses ‘just one more episode’ as an excuse to stay up until 3 a.m.”

“it’s called commitment,” oscar said, smirking as he grabbed the phone again. “suspect pretends to like my playlist but skips my songs when they think i’m not looking.”

“they’re all acoustic covers of 2000s pop songs, oscar!” you protested.

“and they’re brilliant,” he said, aiming the phone at you. “suspect also googles the plot of movies halfway through because they’re too impatient to wait and see what happens.”

“okay, but at least i don’t fake losing at card games to make you feel better,” you shot back, smirking.

oscar gasped dramatically. “i would never!”

you both burst into laughter, leaning against the counter as the timer beeped in the background.

“guess i win,” oscar said smugly, reaching for the phone.

“in your dreams,” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[tiramissyoucake]

Papa Viltrumite Mark pls? 🙇

Oooohh.... rubs my hands together mischievously. This is canon in the viltrumite Mark story but like further down the story after having a first son♡ high key fluff!!

"And what's the blue part?" Your son pointed to the vibrant blue of the illustration, the book would have told you that but humans know it as common knowledge, survivors of earth knew at least. "That's the ocean, sweetheart."

"Oshun?" Your son mimicked, looking at you with curious dark eyes. "It's pronounced 'O-shin', okay? It's a big body of water with all kinds of creatures and plants."

"Like a big lake?" Not quite, but he remembered the previous time you read to him, you smiled. "In a way, yes."

As your son peered over the worn book in your lap, his black head of hair blocking any clear sight of whatever parts of earth he was looking at, he pointed to an illustration of the earth's layers. "Is that earth's organs?"

You let out a small laugh, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Close, that's the earth's core."

"... mom? Can we go see earth?" He looked at you with so much hope, and it killed you to have to shoot it down. You didn't expect a child to remember that earth was nothing but a distant memory now.

You paused hearing the door open, a familiar exaggerative cape flowing in. "Dad!" You thanked God for children's low attention span as he kicked off the bed and sprinted to his father, Mark grinning and picking him up. "There's my boy."

You shut the book, setting it aside as you got up from your place. "You're back early..."

He hummed in response as he came close to you, kissing your cheek as your son gagged. "I couldn't stay away, I suppose."

"Dad, can we go to flying practice now?" The two of you perked up as your son excitedly held up a flying pose. "I think I'm getting the hang of it! I wanna do a loop-da-loop!" That brought out a laugh from the two of you, genuine from Mark, nervous from you.

"You'll be doing 'loop-da-loops' in your sleep soon enough but let's finish the basics before anything, okay?" Mark glanced at you, an expectant glint in his eye. "You'll come watch this time, won't you?"

"Oh- I don't wanna get in the way..." Your hesitance brought a pouty look to their faces, it was terrifying how similar they looked, Mark let your son down and before he could try to convince you, the boy was already on it.

"Mom, pleeeaaase? It's a lot of fun!! Dad can help you fly too!" He clung to your robes with the cutest puppy dog eyes, the dark hue reflected light so perfectly and made him look like an actual puppy. Your husband chuckled, setting a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm not opposed to that, I used to fly carrying your mother when she was pregnant with you, y'know?" Mark remembered the times he worried for you and resorted to carrying you for even the simplest tasks. "Did not need to know about the pregnant part!" Your son rolled his eyes, already inheriting his father's sass.

"Come on," Mark ushered. "It's like seeing him walk for the first time, you'll love it." Your son pouted, already floating out the door.

"No it's not! I'm a cool flyer! You'll see— ow!" You and your husband winced as your son bumped into the door too quickly in his flight, belting out an "I'm OK!" As he prepared for departure.

"... 9 months in my womb," you started, exasperated. "And he's nothing like me." You glared at Mark as he turned to you with a smile. "That's not true, he's got your resilience and curiosity." You rolled your eyes, he cupped your cheek to kiss you fondly.

"Maybe later, when he's all tuckered out... we can catch up?" His voice sounded too eager for it to be an innocent offer, his hands wrapping around you and pulling you closely. "I'll give you a preview during flying practice and—"

"Flying range isn't gonna wait forever, y'know?!" Your son interjected from somewhere in the hallway, causing Mark to sigh and part from you as you tried to calm down your flushed face. "He's got the ego of a Viltrumite Prince, that's for sure."

[amirasainz]

omg the little Alonso fics are TOO cute!!! Can I please request one where little Alonso has a little crush on a driver and how the others react especially her papa? 😂

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo, babygirl 💕

The Baby-Crush

The sun was high over the paddock, the heat intense enough to send most of the drivers straight to the designated cooling area after their morning practice laps. The “sweating area,” as they’d all jokingly dubbed it, was packed with drivers catching their breath and throwing back water bottles like they’d just crossed a desert.

Suddenly, the calm was broken by a pattering of tiny feet.

“Papá!”

Every driver’s head whipped around to see the sight they’d been waiting for all season — three-year-old Yn Alonso running at full speed through the paddock, her dark hair bouncing as she scanned for her father. Even with the humid weather, she was dressed in a white fluffy dress, with a big green bow, to not only represent her daddy's team, but to also keep her hair from slipping over her eyes.

Fernando's grin grew as she hurtled towards him. He knelt down to catch her, arms wide open, as she nearly toppled him over in a flying hug.

“Mi niña,” he laughed, scooping her up and holding her close. “What are you doing here, pequeña?”

She beamed at him, then, without a word, wiggled to be let down, her big brown eyes already scanning the room. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Yn’s eyes locked onto Charles, who was laughing with Carlos.

Charles noticed her stare and broke out in a huge grin. “Ah, there she is!” He knelt down, stretching his arms out wide. “Come here, Yn!”

Without a second thought, Yn sprinted straight into Charles's open arms, bypassing every other driver without a glance. Fernando's smile froze. Carlos raised his eyebrows, nudging Lando as he stifled a laugh.

Charles lifted Yn effortlessly, spinning her around as she giggled and clung to him, her little arms wrapped around his neck. “You’re getting so big!” he said, poking her nose gently, earning a bright giggle.

“You’re her favorite, Charles,” Pierre teased, crossing his arms with a playful pout. “I remember when I was the favorite.”

Yn looked over at Pierre with a big smile but tightened her grip around Charles’s neck. “Charlie!” she insisted, pointing at him as if to make it clear who her favorite was.

Lando laughed, nudging Max. “Charles has a new fangirl, and she's got the Alonso seal of approval. How does it feel to have Fernando’s blessing?”

But a low, grumbling sound interrupted the teasing. Fernando had crossed his arms, a deep frown etched on his face. “Blessing? What blessing? I did not give any blessing. This… this is betrayal. By my own hija.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender, struggling to contain his laughter. “Hey, hey, don’t look at us, mate. Looks like she’s got a bit of a crush on Charles.”

Fernando’s eyes narrowed as he watched Charles gently bouncing Yn in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder with a content sigh. The other drivers snickered as Fernando muttered to himself, pacing a bit and shaking his head.

“Charles,” he said, his voice half-joking, half-serious, “that is my daughter, not some… Ferrari groupie.”

Charles looked over at Fernando with a grin, carefully placing a tiny kiss on Yn’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Fernando. I am a gentleman.”

Yn’s cheeks turned pink as she let out a giggle and hid her face in Charles’s shoulder, peeking out with a shy smile. Charles, absolutely charmed, looked back at Fernando. “See? She’s happy.”

Carlos leaned in, smirking. “You’re in trouble, Charles. Fernando looks ready to put you in the barriers next race.”

But Charles, clearly enjoying himself, pretended not to notice the jealous glares from both Fernando and the other drivers. He cradled Yn a little closer, leaning his forehead against hers, as her tiny fingers played with the zipper of his racing suit.

“Charlie,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “are you gonna win?”

Charles softened, nodding earnestly. “I’ll do my best, just for you, okay?”

Fernando let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, so now you’re winning races, huh? Where was that last season?”

Everyone burst into laughter as Charles sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “What can I say, Fernando? I have a good-luck charm now.” He tapped Yn’s nose, and she burst into giggles again.

Lando was practically in stitches. “Mate, you’ve got a tiny Alonso fangirl giving you her blessing. You’d better win next weekend!”

Yn, sensing the attention, pointed her little finger at Lando. “No,” she said firmly, still clinging to Charles. “Charlie’s best.”

Carlos wiped away a fake tear. “Ouch! Betrayed by someone so young.”

Fernando finally stepped forward, determined to reclaim his daughter. “Okay, okay, ya es suficiente, little one. Come back to Papá, alright?”

Yn hesitated, looking between her father and Charles, before giving her dad a quick look of mischief.

“No!” she squealed and snuggled closer to Charles, making him laugh as he hugged her back. “With Charlie!”

Fernando’s face was priceless — part horrified, part amused, and all exasperated. The other drivers were practically doubled over with laughter, watching Fernando’s meltdown unfold.

“Yn,” Fernando said in his best “dad” voice, “Charlie drives for Ferrari. Ferrari, Yn. Alonso girls do not cheer for Ferrari.”

She blinked, clearly not understanding a word he’d said, before patting Charles’s cheek lovingly. “Charlie’s nice.”

George Russell chuckled, giving Fernando a pat on the back. “Face it, Fernando. She’s got taste.”

Charles, now thoroughly enjoying himself, made a point to keep her entertained, bouncing her on his hip, whispering silly things that made her giggle uncontrollably. At one point, he looked over at Fernando with a wink. “Look, I’ll take good care of her, Fernando. She’s safe with me.”

Fernando rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile now, despite his reluctant acceptance. “If you so much as put one scratch on her, Charles…”

Charles gave a mock salute. “Understood, sir. Only the best for the Alonso princess.”

For the rest of the day, Yn stayed glued to Charles’s side, happily babbling about who knows what as he patiently listened, asking her questions and looking thoroughly invested. At one point, she tugged on his sleeve.

“Charlie,” she said, looking around before leaning close to his ear, her voice a loud whisper, “don’t tell Papá, but I like red.”

Charles chuckled, glancing over at Fernando, who was watching the two of them suspiciously from across the room. “Our little secret,” he whispered back.

By the end of the day, Yn was dozing off, still in Charles’s arms, her tiny fingers clinging to the front of his suit. Charles carried her back to Fernando, who shook his head, finally resigned.

“Alright, fine,” Fernando said, reaching out to take his daughter. “But just remember, Yn, Papá is still your number one fan, okay?”

Yn blinked sleepily and gave him a nod. “Number one,” she mumbled, and Fernando’s heart melted a bit.

But just as he thought he’d won, she gave Charles one last sleepy grin. “Charlie, you’re number two.”

Fernando groaned, and the whole paddock dissolved into laughter as Charles gave her a final cheeky kiss on the cheek.

[itneverendshere]

is it cool if i hold your hand? - r.c

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: none

You’re curled up on Rafe’s couch in one of his hoodies — it still smells like his cologne and the lingering remnants of post-practice sweat — when he says it.

“I wanna take you on a date.”

You glance over from where your legs are tangled over his lap, wondering if you heard him right.

“Huh?”

He nods, a little sheepish. “Pick you up, flowers, no sex.”

You laugh — disbelieving — and lean your head back on the couch. “What, and ruin the sacred tradition of you fucking me against any available surface?”

You say it teasingly, because it’s easier to joke than to admit how much your heart is sprinting inside your chest. How sometimes, even now, it’s hard to believe you two are dating, not just hooking up in the dark or sneaking around. 

You already told each other I love you. You sleep over now without pretending it’s accidental. He brushes your cheek when he thinks you’re asleep, and you’ve caught yourself wearing his clothes like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe mumbles, hand dragging down his face, already regretting it. “Just, y’know... normal. A normal date.”

Your mouth opens. “You want... normal?”

It’s ridiculous. A little late, absolutely unnecessary and kind of perfect. You glance down at where your hand is resting over his heart.

“You wanna wine and dine me, Cameron?”

He shrugs, but there’s that twitch in the corner of his mouth. “Jus’wanna do this right.”

You sigh, mock dramatic. “So no sex?”

“Ideally no sex,” he amends, eyes flicking away from you to some invisible speck on the wall. “I don’t know. I want it, with you.” His voice dips, quieter. “Is that dumb?”

You sit up a little, hoodie sleeves falling over your hands, and you swear your ribcage is too small for your lungs now. 

“You don’t think we missed the window for normal?”

“What, because I’ve already ruined you for any other guy?”

Your cheeks burn, and he looks pleased with himself — that is the Rafe you know, the asshole who leaves bruises in the shape of his teeth in every corner of your body.

You fiddle with the strings of his hoodie. “You bringing flowers?”

This is what love looks like when it starts backwards and somehow still ends up exactly where it’s supposed to.

He nods. “Peonies. You like peonies.”

“You remember that?”

God, you are so fucking gone for this boy.

He scoffs. “’Course I remember. Who do you think I am? Your parents brought a bouquet of them to your kindergarten graduation. You were missing three teeth and you tripped going up the stairs.”

You let out a tiny gasp-laugh, eyes narrowing. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, and you’ve had peonies at every graduation since,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing, even though he’s carving your whole childhood open in front of you with perfect, awful clarity. “Middle school, high school...even that stupid driver's ed certificate you made them come to.”

“That was a big deal to me!” you protest.

He grins. “I know. You cried when they forgot the card that year.”

You want to say something witty or cool or even just coherent, but your throat feels like it’s full of bees, and your heart’s beating like it’s trying to crawl up into your mouth. Truth is, you feel like you're sixteen again, and he’s just brushed the hair out of your face at that party when you swore you hated him.

How dare he remember your kindergarten graduation flowers and keep that knowledge tucked away for years. He had been there, the day you got the stupid driver’s ed certificate, leaned over from the back seat, and handed you his card, a stupid, glittery thing your brother made him sign at the last minute.

You didn’t know he even noticed why you were upset.

His hand had hovered awkwardly over your back, not sure if he was supposed to touch you. You remember him sitting there with you, long after Kelce wandered off, until you stopped crying.

“Shut up,” you throw pillow at his head. He catches it easily, like the smug athlete he is, and sets it aside, hand settling back on your thigh.

He’s serious.

That look in his eyes, this is Rafe when he means something.

 “I love what we have. I love you. I just…we skipped all the sweet stuff that happen before I love you.”

You tilt your head, letting his words settle in your chest. He’s right — the two of you went from horny glances to heated nights, to hiding something from your brother to suddenly not hiding at all, falling in love before you ever held his hand in a restaurant.

You sort of skipped every cliché milestone, there was no first kiss under the stars, no awkward brush of hands.

“And you want the sweet stuff?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I want everythin’ with you. Even the cheesy shit.”

“And the awkward first-date nerves?”

“I’ll fake them if you want.”

Your vision blurs a little at the edges. You blink fast, then, stupidly: “That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grins against your hair, nose brushing your temple. “You haven’t seen anything yet, princess.”

You let out a little huff and he feels it — you know he does — because his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until you're almost in his lap entirely.

Rafe can never stand even an inch of space between you.

You shift slightly, curling your fingers around the hem of his hoodie that you’re wearing — his hoodie — and then tug it up over your mouth so only your eyes peek out.

“You’re being really unfair right now,” you mumble, voice muffled.

“Unfair?” he echoes, amused.

You nod, hoodie pulled like a shield to your nose.

His laugh is sweet, chest shaking under your hand, then he dips his head, presses a kiss above your brow, then one on your cheekbone, then your jaw, feather-light. He kisses the corner of your mouth, just a peck, but it has you sighing against his lips, and you feel him smile as he kisses you again, this time properly. He’s so good at this, memorized every sigh you make, how you like to be kissed — every second of this is sweet torture.

When he pulls back, it’s only a breath away, lips brushing yours again when he murmurs, “Still unfair?”

You nod slowly, dazed. “So unfair.”

His thumb finds that spot behind your knee again, starts drawing circles there, knowing what it does to you. He’s made a study of you, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of his hoodie to rest warm and firm on your waist.

You narrow your eyes. “I thought you said no sex.”

“I did,” he says, all mock innocence, while his fingers splay out against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I can’t touch you a little. C’mere.”

You’re already there, in his lap, but he tugs anyway, pulling you to straddle him with practiced ease like he’s done it a thousand times — because he has. You swat at his chest, and he catches your wrist, kisses your knuckles like a sap. 

“You’re so—” you start, but it crumbles into a giggle. You’re smiling too hard. “There’s no way we’re making it through a full date without fucking.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe not.”

“Maybe?”

“Absolutely not,” he breathes against your mouth, hands sliding up your back, pulling you in. “You in a dress, lettin’ me take you out, show you off, and then not letting me bend you over my truck after? ‘M not a saint, baby.”

You snort, and bury your face in his neck, speaking into the warm skin there. “So what’s the plan then? Where are you taking me?”

He leans back enough to meet your eyes, “It’s a surprise.”

You gasp, scandalized. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“That’s the point of a surprise, yes."

Your eyes narrow. “Rafe.”

“Nope.”

You make a wounded noise and collapse dramatically against him, face pressed to his chest. “I fucking hate surprises.”

“Nah, you don’t,” he murmurs into your hair, kissing the crown of your head. “You just hate not being in control.”

You lift your head, scowling playfully. “Okay, rude.”

“True though.”

You pout, bottom lip trembling and everything weaponized it in full force. “Tell me just one thing.”

He groans, it physically pains him to resist you. “Nope. I’m stone.”

“Rafe,” you roll your hips in his lap, and oh, there it is —his self-control shattering right behind his eyes.

“That’s cheating,” he mutters, jaw clenching.

You blink up at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re evil.”

You hum. “Dinner?”

“No comment.”

“Outdoor? Indoor? Fancy?”

He shakes his head, stubborn. “You’ll find out.”

“Dress or jeans?”

“That feels like cheating.”

“Is there food, Rafe, for the love of God—”

He chuckles, head tilting back. “Dress. And yes, there’s food. I’m not a monster.”

You narrow your eyes again, finger poking into his chest like you’re scolding him.

“You better not fucking take me to a Waffle House parking lot and call it romantic.”

“That’s date three, actually,” he deadpans.

“Peonies and everything?”

He brushes your cheek, gentle and devastating. “Baby, I already ordered them.”

You nudge your nose against his. “Okay then. Take me out, Rafe Cameron.”

His eyes soften instantly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just don’t let me embarrass myself. If I’m overdressed and you take me to some hole-in-the-wall dive—”

“You’d still be the best-dressed person there,” he says, pulling you closer by the waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek like he’s inhaling you. “Always are.”

Your chest squeezes so tight it’s embarrassing — you’d follow him to that Waffle House parking lot if he asked sweet enough.

You don’t realize you’re leaning in until your noses bump and you breathe the same breath. You forget everything but the feeling of his hands on you and his tongue licking into your mouth and the way his thumbs are now teasing under the swell of your ass.

You pull back, eyes heavy-lidded. “Rafe.”

“Hm?”

“You’re breaking your own rule.”

“Am I?” he says, not bothering to pretend to sound guilty as he slides his hands lower, gripping you. “Doesn’t feel like you mind.”

You don’t.

But you also know if you let it go any further, the hoodie’s coming off, and then your underwear, and then you’ll be a puddle in his lap and you’ll never make it to that date.

“I’m serious,” you say, even though your voice is breathy and you’re clinging to his shoulders. “If you want a real date, you have to stop touching me like that.”

His brows raise, challenging. “Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna eat me alive.”

That grin — the one that makes your knees weak — spreads across his face like sin. 

His voice drops a full octave as he leans in to brush his lips along the line of your jaw. “Just kissing. I can kiss you without fucking you.”

“Doubtful,” Your breath hitches when he nips the skin below your ear. You turn your head to meet his mouth, but you don’t kiss him even when is eyes flicker down, then back up, hazy. “Thought you wanted the sweet stuff.”

Rafe hums against your cheek, “This is the sweet stuff.”

Four hours later, you're pacing in front of the mirror, still in shock that you’ve shaved your legs yet again for a boy —your accidental soulmate, the devil you fell in love. The peonies are already in a vase on your kitchen counter, because of course he was early, and of course he remembered to write a card, and of course the card said “for every graduation and then some” in handwriting you could recognize blindfolded.

He hadn’t come in, only handed you the flowers and kissed your cheek, before saying, “See you soon, pretty girl,” and leaving you with no contexto clue to where you were going.

So now you’re here, skin still buzzing from his touch, shimmery gloss already reapplied three times, heart beating as if this is your first time seeing him.

When your phone buzzes, it’s a text from him: I’m outside. No peeking. I’m serious.

You’re giggling lik a school girl before you even realize it, grabbing your purse and walking toward the door with the type of anticipation usually reserved for Christmas morning and championship games.

You open the door — and there he is.

Team hoodie swapped for a crisp black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands in his pockets. His eyes sweep over you slowly, not with lust (well, not just lust), but awe.

“Wow.”

You raise an eyebrow, letting yourself be cocky. “I know.”

He steps forward, lets his hand find yours, palms carved with the intention of fitting together.

“I lied,” he says, walking you toward the truck. “There’s no date. I just wanted an excuse to see you in a dress.”

He opens the passenger door for you — something no one has ever done, not in real life — and you slide in, pretending you’re not swooning (the bar is in hell). Your hands curl into his jacket once your ass hits the seat, pulling and kissing him, smelling his cologne — spicy, familiar — and his mouth, which is now faintly sticky from your lip gloss.

He pulls back, blinking down at you with this glazed-over look.

“What is that?” he asks, mouth close to yours. “That cherry shit you always wear?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe licks his lips. “Yeah. Keep wearin’ that.”

You shove at his chest, flustered. “You’re so annoying.”

“I like it,,” he tosses over his shoulder as he jogs around the front of the car, pausing only to call back, “Adds a little extra something when I—”

“Rafe!”

He glances over with that crooked smile and murmurs, “Buckle up, baby.”

You’re warm all over, still dizzy from his mouth on yours. There’s something so stupidly sweet about how giddy you are just sitting beside him, thigh brushing thigh on every turn.

You steal a look at him —admire how his brows furrow when he concentrates on the road, one hand is loose on the Wheel, and the other draped casually on your thigh. You wonder if he knows you’re memorizing him in real time.

“Okay,” you say, hoping to sound casual even though your voice is still tinged with laughter, “Where are we going?”

“Nope,” he sings again, this time smirking at the road. “You’re just gonna have to sit there and look pretty.”

You roll your eyes, “You realize I’m gonna be annoying about this the whole ride, right?”

“Counting on it,” he mutters under his breath, and when you look over at him again, he's grinning.

The drive isn’t long, but the warm air, his fingers tracing patterns into your skin, the low playlist in the background make it feel like you’re stuck in time (in a good way).

Eventually, the truck rolls to a stop, tires crunching against gravel, Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you.

“Don’t be mad.”

Your eyebrows lift, but he’s already hopping out, opening the door with a dramatic bow, hand extended. “M’lady.”

You take it, “If this is a Waffle House, I’m going to kill you.”

"It’s not...but it’s cheesy.”

You didn’t think he was serious earlier.

You squint at him. “How cheesy?”

“A little?” he defends himself, and when you step down. He walks backward ahead of you, tugging your hand with that boyish grin that always gets him forgiven before he even does anything wrong. 

Then you see it, tiny little overlook spot, tucked between trees, looking out over the water just as the sun starts dipping low. A blanket already set up, a cooler, fairy lights strung between two trees, flickering in the dusky light. There are a few takeout boxes from your favorite place, and — god help you — a portable speaker playing a quiet, familiar playlist you didn’t think he remembered.

“Oh,” you say, the breath catching in your throat, “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything, only watches you take it in. And then, “Told you it was a surprise.”

Your eyes are hot again — damn him — and you turn to him slowly, blinking. “Rafe.”

You’re going to marry this boy. That’s the only conclusion you can come to. You’re going to marry him and it’ll be a disaster half the time and he’ll forget his keys and you’ll argue about who left the lights on, but it’ll be him. Always him.

“Tried to remember all the shit you’ve said over the years.’” He shrugs, bashful again. “I paid attention.”

You’re not sure what to do with the fact he remembered every throwaway daydream you whispered, probably half-asleep or mid-ramble, and turned it into this. You shake your head, helplessly in love, and walk straight into his arms, you were made to live there.

His arms wrap around you instantly, his mouth pressing into your temple. You press your hand to your chest as you pull away.

“This is so stupid disgustingly cute, Rafe.”

“I’m disgusted too,” he deadpans. “Could throw up.”

You laugh, letting him pull you the rest of the way, sitting on the blanket and letting him arrange everything. He’s got the little packets of kimchi you love, and he even remembered the sauce you always hoard two of. He hands you a can of sparkling water and bumps your knee.

You stare at him like he’s grown wings. “You… remembered the extra sauce?”

He looks offended you even have to ask.

“You licked the lid once, baby. That shit’s branded into my brain.”

You lean forward and kiss him again, because you can.

The food is good, but honestly, you barely taste it. You’re too focused on him, how looks at you, trying to memorize your mouth when you talk and the way your nose scrunches when you sip something too fizzy. The fairy lights reflect in his eyes, and you swear he’s never looked better.

Not the Rafe everyone else sees, yours.

“You okay?” he asks at one point, handing you a napkin with a smirk because you’ve already got rice stuck to your cheek.

“Better than good,” you say, dabbing your face. “You’re fully boyfriend-ing right now.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he shrugs, leaning back on one arm, eyes dragging over your frame. “Some of them are respectable.”

“And the others?”

He leans in again, “Eating pussy.”

Your jaw drops a little, cheeks warming, as you glare half-heartedly and toss a balled-up napkin at him, not expecting the nasty comment.

You swear he’s waiting for you to get flustered, squirmy, maybe even a little breathless the way you always do when he gets like this, but two can play the game.

He catches the napkin, of course. “Reflexes of a god, too.”

Your fingers ghost over his knee before sliding higher —a tease, enough to make him inhale sharply.

“Was that a reflex or are you actively showing off?”

“Bit of both,” he admits shamelessly. “Kinda hoping you’d swoon.”

You lean back, batting your lashes, a dangerous little flirt. “Always soooo eager to impress me, captain.”

You watch him swallow, his eyes dropping to your mouth, your hand, your legs curled under you — before flicking back up.

Rafe raises an eyebrow, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late. Already planning your jersey number tattooed on my ass.”

He chokes on his drink, hand thumping his chest, coughing.

“Jesus.”

You tilt your head innocently, eyes sparkling. “What? You don’t want me branded like one of your hockey sticks?”

“You’re—You’re actually satan.”

You hum, smug.

“You say that like it’s not your favorite thing about me.”

He looks like he’s suffering— that forehead vein is starting to show, it pops whenever you say something a little too filthy and then go back to sipping your sparkling water like a saint.

“You keep talking like that and I’m gonna forget I'm tryin' to be a gentleman."

You laugh. “So what I’m hearing is... I’m winning.”

He shakes his head, scoffing, because it’s true. 

You go back to your food like nothing happened, twirling a piece of food onto your fork, eyes flicking up at him lazily.

“Are you gonna eat?”

“Y’know I’ve got a staring problem when it comes to you.”

You pretend to think. “I’ll let it slide.”

Rafe stabs into his food. “You make me sound like a fucking victorian widow seeing ankles for the first time.”

He reaches for a breadstick absently, then gets distracted because you’re licking sauce off your thumb. Very slowly.

“Baby.”

You glance over, brows raised, smug. “What? I’m just eating.”

He groans, “This is psychological warfare.”

You hum. “Wow. Big words for a jock.”

He’s speechless for a full five seconds, then props himself up on an elbow, shaking his head. You scrunch your nose at him, trying to hide the flustered tingles that shot down your spine.

His thumb moves and suddenly, he’s brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Got it.”

 “...You missed a spot.”

His head tilts. “Where?”

You grin tapping your lip. “Here.”

He leans in, and you think he’s gonna kiss you — but he hovers there, breath ghosting against your mouth, eyes half-lidded. You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth, kissing the inside.

He doesn’t stop there.

Rafe kisses the inside of your wrist, then another kiss. And another, trailing up your forearm until your breath hitches and he’s smiling again.

“This what you meant earlier?” you manage, your voice is lower now, amost shy, which is stupid, because you’re not. 

He doesn’t answer right away, only moves forward, one hand finding your thigh, spreading over it, the other brushes a braid from your face. You shift onto your knees and he meets you halfway, hands curling under your thighs to drag you forward until you’re half in his lap and your fingers are in his hair.

His tongue brushes yours, and you swear the noise he lets out when your nails scrape the back of his neck is going to ruin you forever. He doesn’t even pretend to be bashful about it, he knows what he’s doing. 

Your lip gloss is already smearing when you gasp, his hand sliding under the hem of your dress with no warning, it's nothing filthy yet, but it has you arching into him instantly.

He moans, the feel of your skin being a reward to him. You feel his hand move up your leg, fingers splaying possessively against your bare skin.

“You’re so warm,” he mutters, pulling back to speak, “You’re drivin’ me insane.”

“Thought we were being good tonight,” you tease against his jaw, letting your teeth graze the skin there.

He growls. “We were. Like you said, doubtful.”

You grind against him again and giggle sweetly when his mouth drops open like he’s struggling to remember his own name. His hands wander again, dragging up the back of your thighs, under your dress, and his thumbs are brushing below where your underwear sits.

“Should’ve known we were nevere gonna make it through this date without fucking.”

He huffs a breathy laugh at your defeat, lips dragging along your cheek. He’s made his peace with his fate — which is you, under him, around him, making those breathy sounds only he gets from you.

He bites you enough to make you yelp, “Baby, I meant it. But you keep crawling into my lap wearing shit like this—”

“You said wear a dress,” you interrupt, dazed.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing down your throat. “This is my problem. I did this.”

Your head tips back as his mouth travels lower, kissing your collarbone, then the edge of the neckline, trying to be good — and failing.

“You’re not helping your case,” You call him out, even as you rock your hips against him.

“Don’t want'a case. Only want you.”

[bradleysass]

caught - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 846 - slightly NSFW

Dinner in the Great Hall is chaos. Loud, noisy, filled with clattering plates and shrieking laughter. James Potter, for once, couldn’t care less about any of it. He mumbled some excuse about needing to finish a Charms essay, waved Sirius off with a grin, and practically sprinted back up the Gryffindor Tower.

Because Regulus Black—Regulus bloody Black, in all his infuriatingly perfect, sharp-tongued, cold-glare glory—is sitting on the edge of James' bed, legs crossed, looking like he owns the place.

He’s in his uniform still, though the green tie is hanging loose around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. His robe is pooled beside him, abandoned in a way that looks like sin incarnate.

James shuts the dorm door carefully behind him, tosses the lock charm out of habit—

It doesn’t catch.

He frowns.

Regulus arches a brow. “Problem?”

“Nah,” James says, brushing it off. “Just stubborn.” He closes the distance between them in two steps, palms sliding over Regulus’ thighs with that cocky grin he knows drives him insane. “Unlike someone.”

“Keep talking,” Regulus drawls, cool as ever, but his fingers are already in James' hair, pulling him in.

They kiss like they’re going to starve without it—like they’ve been pretending for months not to want this. And now that the seal’s broken, there’s no stopping.

Regulus shudders when James kisses down his neck, unfastening his trousers with the kind of reckless confidence that usually gets him detention. But this? This is worth every bloody rule in the book.

The way Regulus breathes his name—James—is enough to make his knees weak.

He sinks to the floor without hesitation, tongue tracing the sharp cut of Regulus’ hipbone before dipping lower. His hands press to his thighs, firm and reverent, holding him there like he’s a gift.

Regulus lets out a shaky exhale and tips his head back, already lost to it. His knuckles go white gripping the sheets.

It’s slow at first. Teasing. James likes this part—watching Regulus fall apart bit by bit, the way his composure crumbles when James hums around him, lashes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” Regulus groans, voice ragged. “You're going to—fuck, James—”

That’s when the door slams open behind them.

James freezes.

Regulus doesn’t register it immediately—he’s too far gone—but James feels his entire soul leave his body as a very familiar voice yells:

“Oi, Prongs, you forgot your—WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK—”

James turns his head slowly, painfully, like he’s about to witness the end of his own life.

Sirius Black is standing in the doorway, a half-spilled Butterbeer in hand, mouth hanging open, staring in horror at the sight before him: his best friend, kneeling in front of his very startled, very flushed younger brother.

Regulus makes a strangled sound and yanks the discarded robe over his lap like it’ll fix any of this.

James, still on his knees, lips swollen, hair a mess, looks up at Sirius like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hey,” James says weakly, voice an octave too high.

“Hey? HEY?!” Sirius shrieks, looking like he might spontaneously combust. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

Regulus, to his credit, straightens his spine, clears his throat, and says with unnerving calm, “A situation you would not be in if you knocked like a normal person.”

Sirius starts choking on his own words. “You—he—you’re—were you blowing him?!”

“I mean,” James mutters, glancing down and then back up again, “I wasn’t not—”

“OH MY GOD.”

There’s a loud thunk as Sirius’s Butterbeer hits the floor. He spins around dramatically—too dramatically—and smacks face-first into the doorframe.

Regulus winces. James yelps.

“Pads, are you—?”

Sirius bolts out the door like the tower is on fire.

A long, horrified silence descends.

Regulus exhales deeply and slumps back against the bedframe. “I am going to murder him.”

“I am going to have to explain this. He’s going to tell Remus. He’s going to tell PETER. Peter is never going to let this go—he’s going to make a bloody chart—”

Regulus rubs a hand over his face. “Why didn’t the lock work?”

James looks at the door, defeated. “It’s been dodgy since third year.”

“Now you tell me.”

“I didn’t think you would want to do this in the dorm!” James protests. “You showed up! And you looked—like that. You can’t just sit on my bed looking like a fucking fever dream and expect me to behave!”

Regulus blinks. “A fever dream?”

James shrugs, half-crazed. “You’re very compelling!”

Regulus snorts, then bites his lip trying not to laugh.

James flops onto the floor with a groan. “He’s never going to let this go.”

There’s a pause, then Regulus smirks and leans over him, fingers slipping back into his hair.

“Well,” he murmurs, dangerously amused. “We might as well make it worth the scandal.”

James blinks. “Wait, are you seriously still turned on right now?”

Regulus smirks. “Are you not?”

James groans again. “Oh, Merlin. You’re evil.”

“And you’re still on your knees.”

“…Point taken.”

[kinascum]

TAG! - M. STURNIOLO

SYNOPSIS: What happens when your brother's best friend pushes your boundaries in a thrilling encounter?

CONTENTS: nls!reader, explicit sexual content, strong language, power dynamics, degradation, chasing? primal? idk, no actual piv, oral (male), semi-public, humiliation.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

pt2 (chris)

You sit around the kitchen table of the cozy cabin, the glow of the moonlight spilling in through the windows, casting shadows across the well-worn Monopoly board. The laughter and banter of the evening's game slowly die down as the last few hotel properties are snatched up, and the bank is declared bankrupt. Your brother Nate, and his best friends, grin at each other, the competitive spirit still lingering in the air. It's late, and the yawns start to take over, signaling the end of the night.

The cabin's wooden floorboards creak as everyone heads to their designated sleeping areas. The fireplace crackles, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. You settle into your bed, but the excitement of the day keeps sleep at bay. The rustling of blankets and muffled snores from your brother's room reminds you that you're not the only one who remains restless.

The whispers of the night beckon you and you find yourself tiptoeing to the bedroom door. You peek into the hallway, noticing a sliver of light seeping out from under Matt's door. Curiosity piqued, you ease the door open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, staring at the floor. "Can't sleep either?" he asks, looking up and catching your gaze.

"Yeah, it's like my brain won't shut up," you admit, stepping into the room. "Wanna go outside for some fresh air?"

Matt nods, a glint in his eye. "How about we play a game to pass the time?"

Intrigued, you follow him out into the cool night, the crunch of gravel underfoot. The moon casts a silver path down to the lake, where the water laps gently against the shore. The air is alive with the scent of pine and the distant sound of an owl's hoot.

"Okay, I'll chase you," he says with a smirk, "and if I catch you, I win."

You laugh, thinking it's just a way to burn off some energy. "What do I get if I win?"

"We'll see," he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ready or not, here I come!"

And with that, he's off, his sneakers pounding the ground as he sprints towards you. You squeal, the thrill of the chase igniting your senses. As you dart away from him, the night air feels alive with electricity, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the kind of thrill you live for, the kind that makes you feel alive.

The game starts innocently enough, the two of you weg through the trees, laughing and panting. But as the minutes tick by, the adrenaline turns into something else. Something you've felt simmering between you for a while now, something you've been too scared to acknowledge. The wind carries the scent of him, a tantalizing mix of aftershave and pure masculine energy. Your skin tingles with anticipation, and you start to feel the heat building deep within you.

Matt's breath is hot on your neck as he catches up, his strong hands grabbing you around the waist. You gasp, feeling his solid body pressed against yours, the game turning into something much more primal. You can feel the heat of his body overcome yours, and it sends a shockwave through your core. This isn't just a game anymore; it's a dance of desire that you're both eager to explore.

He whispers in your ear, his voice thick with lust, "I win."

With a firm grip, he spins you around and pushes you to your knees. You look up at him, a mix of fear and excitement swirling in your eyes. He's serious. The gravity of the moment hits you like a ton of bricks, but you don't resist. You want this. You've wanted this for a long time.

He unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking in the stillness of the night, and unzips his pants, pulling out his hard cock. "You know how this goes," he murmurs, stroking himself, watching you with a hungry gaze. "You're gonna let me use that pretty little throat?"

Your heart races as you lean in, your mouth watering despite the fear. You wrap your lips around him, and he groans, his hand tangling in your hair. He's not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth, his grip tightening with every moan. The taste of him fills your senses, a mix of salt and earth, and you can't help but feel a twinge of excitement. This isn't how you thought this night would go, but the way he's looking at you, the way he's holding you, it's like he's claiming you, and it turns you on more than you ever thought possible.

You try to keep up, but he's too much for you. You gag, and he laughs, a dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Look at you," he says, "such a good little slut, take it." Spit trails down your chin, and your eyes water, but you don't stop. You can't. The thrill of it all is too intense.

"I bet Nate never knew what a whore you are," he murmurs, his voice low aging. "Letting me fuck your mouth out here like some cheap hooker." His words are like a slap in the face, but they only serve to make you wetter. Your eyes narrow as your brows chisel in, but you're his, and you're letting him do this to you. It's a power play, and you're both acutely aware of it.

"Oh, you're mad?" He laughs. The sound of branches underfoot in the distance makes your heart leap. "Better hurry up," he says, his eyes glinting with excitement, "or Chris might find you like this and want a taste" The thought sends a jolt of fear and arousal through you. "Oh, but you'd love that, being used by both your brother's best friends?" Your mind races. What would Nate think if he found you like this? What would Nick do? The possibility of getting caught only adds to the thrill.

Matt's hand moves to your chin, holding it in a firm grip as he fucks your mouth harder, faster. "Take it, baby," he growls, his hips bucking against your face. "You like it, huh?" You nod, unable to speak with his cock lodged in your throat, you mumble around his shaft. You do love it. The degradation, the power he has over you in this moment, it's intoxicating.

Finally, with a grunt, he pulls out, coming all over your face and chest. You collapse back onto the ground, gasping for air, your heart racing and your eyes like storms behind shed tears. He wipes his dick off your shirt, smiling down at you like he's just conquered the world. "You've always been mine, don’t get mad now," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. He leans down, his hand on your jaw suddenly pulls away and the sing on your face is accompanied by the hot spit thrown at you. "Mine to use whenever I want."

The night air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and you can't help but feel a little bit used. But you don't care. You're his, and that's all that matters. The tension between you is palpable, the line between friendship and something darker is now irrevocably blurred. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, tasting him on your lips, and wonder if this is the start of something new.

As you both catch your breath, the sound of footsteps grows louder. Panic flares in your chest. "we have to get back." You stumble to your feet, your legs wobbly from the intense experience. Matt chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants.

Together, you sneak back towards the cabin, your heart pounding in your ears. As you enter the cabin, you see the light from Nate's room is now off. Did he hear you? Did he know what was happening outside?

You slip into your bed, your body still humming with desire, your mind racing with thoughts of what's to come. The lines between friendship and lust have been crossed, and there's no going back.

tags! @sturnstvs @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @baileysturns

love, paz<3

[norrisainz33]

enemies to… pt.2 || mv33

summary: you have the race of your life in canada and a certain someone helps you celebrate against your better judgement

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

fc & warnings: none and bad language, very suggestive - you are responsible for the content you consume

a/n: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a driver pairing and the two drivers i was basing them off had a blinder of a race when i was starting part 2 ,,, id have 2 nickels and that’s not a lot but it is weird it happened twice.... LETS GO KIMI AND GEORGE!!!!! p.s i got way too invested in this this is a LONG one xoxo

masterlist | pt 1

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

“YESSS! YES, YES, YES!!” you screamed into the radio, barely able to keep your hands steady on the wheel as you crossed the finish line in third place. p1. your first formula 1 win.

the mercedes pit wall exploded in cheers and through the radio crackle, toto’s voice came through steady as always but proud. “y/n! huge drive today, kid.” you could hear the smile in his voice. “you are a race winner! great work.”

you let out a shaking laugh, already crying. “thank you, toto. thank you for everything.” your voice cracked with emotion as you waved to the grandstands on your cool-down lap, heart thundering against your ribcage. this was it. the moment you’d been chasing your entire life and now, you’d finally caught it.

“what a race! great job, y/n!” bono chimed in next. “how do you feel?”

“so good!” you gasped, breathless and beaming beneath your helmet. “god this feels so good. i'm so grateful to you, to the team, to everyone who’s believed in me. this means everything.”

ahead, you caught sight of isack giving you a thumbs up from his parked car a small but solid nod of respect from one of your favorite people that made your chest swell even more.

your hands trembled as you unclipped your belts and rolled to a stop in front of the glowing red number 1 marker. with practiced motion and adrenaline-fueled excitement, you pulled off your steering wheel and set it on the car’s nose before hoisting yourself out of the cockpit. the noise of the crowd hit you in full force.

throwing your arms up to the sky, you let the roar of the fans wash over you. their cheers mingled with the sound of your own name being shouted by your crew. you leapt off the nose of the car and took off in a sprint toward the waiting arms of your mechanics and engineers, all of them ready for you, shouting, clapping, crying just like you.

you barely made it a few feet before your teammate caught you in a tight hug. “you bloody legend!” he shouted over the noise, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he lifted you a little off the ground and spun you around. “first win and a double podium for us! i’m so fucking proud of you.”

you couldn’t stop laughing, the sound mingling with the tears still clinging to your lashes as george set you back on the ground. “george! I can’t believe this—”

"believe it, superstar.” he slung an arm around your shoulder leading you toward the rest of the mercedes crew as you ripped your helmet off your head.

parc ferme was buzzing. high fives were being thrown, people were shouting your name, someone handed you a mercedes flag to wave, and another mechanic pushed a bottle of water into your hand while bono clapped you on the back. you were surrounded by joy, your joy and you let yourself just feel it.

then the crowd shifted. you glanced to the side, heart still pounding, and there he was.

max verstappen, hair damp with sweat and race suit unzipped, walked toward you with a half-smirk and that unreadable look in his eye. he clapped briefly for you, once, twice then stopped a few steps away.

george dropped his arm from your shoulder and gave max a stiff nod before retreating to let you have a moment.

max held your gaze. “p1, huh? guess all that pushing i forced you to do this season has paid off."

you laughed, “p2 isn’t so bad either. i thought you might catch me at one point.”

“i was close. annoyingly close, actually.” he squinted at you with a teasing glare, and then softer, added, “you deserved that today though. that was a hell of a drive.”

you smiled, a small but genuine one. “thanks, max. for that and for not running me off the track this time.”

he gave you a dry look but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “i like to keep things interesting.” then, quieter so only you could hear, “happiness suits you.”

you opened your mouth to respond but before you could say anything, a pr rep called your name from behind, reminding you it was time to head to the cool down room. max took a slow step back but didn’t break eye contact. “see you up there, winner,” he winked before turning and walking to the post race interview with nico rosberg.

✿

ynuser has made a post

liked by lando, georgerussell63, maxverstappen1, yourbff, mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, flavy.barla, iamrebeccad, and 874,205 others

ynuser: P1 BABY LETS GO! WE FINALLY DID IT!!!! the car felt absolutely incredible today and i couldn’t be more pleased with this result. thank you to the best team in the whole world, the amazing and incredible fans who cheer for me every weekend, my friends and family who dared to dream big with me and to one of my biggest cheerleaders and overall best teammate ever, george. love you all more than anything 🩵

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user1: my y/l/nrussell heart i’m crying

yourbff: OK SHES AN F1 RACE WINNER

ynuser: YES SHE IS!!

user2: so deserved you are incredible

georgerussell63: it was always when not if 🩵

ynuser: thank you for always helping me keep my head up and for encouraging me to be the best me. i love you georgie 🩵

georgerussell63: love you more stinker

user20: honestly they don’t make teammates like this anymore. these two are the sweetest most supportive duo i can’t

lando: MY GOAT MY GOAT MY GOAT

ynuser: that’s you 🥀

lando: stfu! let me be proud of you! (even tho u neglected to shout me out in this post?)

ynuser: you’re one of my fans no?

user14: best day in the world for annoying people

maxverstappen1: congrats, y/n!

ynuser: thanks max!

user3: shaking did they really just interact like that after the race and comment on each others instargrams?! who do they think they are

user6: yeah i sobbed the entire last lap watching you cross that finish line

carmenmundt: so proud of you my beautiful girl 😘

ynuser: thank you carmen 😭🤍

mercedesamgf1: that’s our girl 🩵

ynuser: 🩵🩵🩵🩵

user99: y/n and george’s celebration may have been the most wholesome thing i’ve ever seen in all of sports

maxverstappen1 has posted to his story

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user2: a y/n post?????? on main???????????

charlesleclerc: very interesting post we’ve got here

maxverstappen1: what ever could you mean by that

charlesleclerc: you know what i mean mate. 2 weeks ago you told me she was one of your least favorite people on the grid and now you’re showing up to races with her, publicly congratulating her in your post race interview and NOW POSTING HER ON INSTAGRAM

maxverstappen1: one could call it personal growth

charlesleclerc: you confuse me mon ami

user3: didn’t you try to kill her in spain

lando: 🤨

maxverstappen1: don’t even start

user5: brb claiming this energy! my y/l/nstappen agenda will never die

ynuser: crazy how you were there on the podium with me for my first win in karting and now you’re here with me in f1 🥹

maxverstappen1: wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else for either of them!

ynuser: you’ve gone soft on me

maxverstappen1: man enough to admit that yes! i 100% have

ynuser: it feels a little weird but i like it

maxverstappen1: me too

user6: ok so what was all that fighting for then

victoriaverstappen: is this who i think it is???

maxverstappen1: yes 😌

victoriaverstappen: so you two really worked everything out?

maxverstappen1: i’d like to think so! we definitely still have some figuring out to do but i think we’re headed on the right path

victoriaverstappen: i’m so glad to hear that 🤍

user8: t minus 3 hours before we get f1gossip posts of you guys kissing at some party

✿

“oh my god lando.” you grabbed his arm, eyes wide as you stared across the dance floor.

he blinked, very tipsy and very much mid-dance. “what?” he shouted over the pounding bass, lifting his drink to take another gulp.

"max is here!” you hissed, gripping his forearm as if he might blow away with the fog machine smoke. your hands trembled just slightly as you watched max verstappen part the crowd, dressed in a plain black tee, fitted jeans, and a ball cap low over his eyes. he was effortlessly casual and stupidly attractive... NOT that you’d ever say that out loud.

lando squinted in the direction you were looking. “okay...?” he gave you a confused look. “didn’t you invite him?”

“well yeah but now I’m scared!” you whisper-shouted, not understanding what lando wasn't picking up on here.

before lando could respond, george appeared behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder like the affectionate annoyance he was. “scared of what now?” he mumbled into your ear, already half-laughing.

you patted his cheek to shoo him off. “nothing, georgie. go away.”

“oh, it’s not nothing! don't lie now, y/n/n,” lando chimed in, way too gleeful for your liking. “miss p1 here invited verstappen and now she’s afraid to even look at him.”

george pulled back, narrowing his eyes like you’d just told him you were planning to join red bull. “since when are you afraid of max? i thought you were friends now?”

you shot him a warning glare, “now is not the time.” max was nearly at the velvet rope, weaving through bodies like he was making his way through eau rouge , casual but focused.

“y/n/n's got a little cru—”

“lando!” you hissed, smacking him in the stomach to shut him up. he made a dramatic show of stumbling back like he’d been shot.

“hey guys!” max greeted, flashing a smile. his voice was relaxed but his eyes lingered on you longer than they did on anyone else and you thought you may have even caught him giving you a once over which made you instantly self conscious.

george gave you a look so smug it could’ve been illegal while lando was still pretending to nurse his “injury” from your stomach smack. you swallowed, forcing your face into a smile. “hi max. you made it.”

“you invited me so of course i did.” he said, arching a brow in slight question. you were saved from replying by someone handing you another drink which you downed a little too quickly for dignity’s sake.

max just chuckled, leaning in slightly. “you always this nervous around me or just when you’re celebrating a podium?”

you laughed way too loud and way too fast, “don’t flatter yourself, verstappen.”

he smirked, “wouldn’t dream of it.” but his gaze lingered on you as charles called him over from the bar.

as he turned to go, promising to come right back, george nudged you. “you are aware he was flirting, right?”

✿

lando posted to his private story

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maxfewtrell: when is she not?

lando: now thats a good question

alexandrasaintmluex: brb on my way. charles and max are in some heated conversation and i want my girly

lando: WAIT WAIT WAIT ABOUT WHAT

alexandrasaintmluex: max not shooting his shot or something with some girl

lando: oh alex do i have some news and a mission for you

alexnadrasaintmluex: WHAT

lando: i think they may be talking abt ur girly. please gather some intel before i spill more bc she will kill me

alexandrasaintmluex: oh my god charles just said: if you don't get back over there and get y/n alone i'm going to start screaming in the middle of this bar

alexandrasaintmluex: does she want that???

lando: Y E S

alexandrasaintmluex: brb going to weasel my way into this conversation and get max to go get her

lando: MY GOAT LETS GOOOOO

georgerussell63: real

lando: thanks for always getting it mate

ynuser: lack of rizz and aura yet i look hot as fck here

lando: you look stupid?

ynuser: i hate you so bad

lando: ok go hang out with max then?

ynuser: I HATE YOU SO BAD

isackhadjar: man where was my invite

lando: dunno mate! get your ass to stereo!

isackhadjar: omw!

francolapinto: would u hate me if i said she has rizz and aura and i kinda like it

lando: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW EW EW EW EW

francolapinto: message received

✿

as you made your way back from the bathroom the room spun in that warm sparkling way alcohol and adrenaline combine after a night you’ll never forget. you were very much caught up in your own thoughts as you weaved through the sea of bodies. you and max had just made up, barely a a few weeks removed from finally squashing years of tension, mind games, and trackside fights. you’d told him, rather explicitly, that you wanted to focus on being friends. keep things simple. focus on racing.

but the high of winning, of finally standing on the top step, of the club lights glinting off champagne flutes and the bass thudding in your chest was all making it really hard to think about anything other than how badly you wanted to figure out how max’s hands would feel tangled in your hair or gripping your bare waist.

“alright, alright, alright,” george declared as you flopped down onto the velvet couch across from him. he looped an arm around carmen’s shoulders and tugged her into the conversation. “here’s a thought. what if,” he grinned, “we get my darling girl to lightly suggest to mr. verstappen that he should make a move on you?”

carmen blinked, clearly blindsided by the proposal. “i’m sorry, what am I being recruited for?”

“absolutely not!” you said quickly. “we are not sending secret agents into battle!! this is not year six disco night.”

“but it kind of is,” lando chimed in, sipping his drink and loving the chaos. “you’re both single, both here, both trying to act like you're not wildly into each other.”

george raised his hands in defense, mischief still dancing in his eyes. “come on, y/n. you just won your first race! i haven't seen you like this in a while, you're absolutely buzzing. let yourself enjoy it. blow off some steam.” he leaned in with a knowing look, “and now that max has been demoted from Public Enemy Number 1 to… let’s say attractive rival with unresolved tension, I mean this is literally the perfect setup. and lets not forget you literally invited him.”

"the alcohol invited him," you glared at george, “and don't drag carmen into this mess.”

"too bad because i already dragged alexandra into it!" lando announced causing your stomach to drop. "and would you look at that! here she comes with max!"

you sat upright nearly knocking over your drink as your eyes landed on alexandra weaving her way toward the vip booth with max just behind her. "you meddling twat," you hissed at lando but he just smiled back at you.

alexandra arrived first, all glowing skin and glittering eyes, dropping a hand dramatically onto your shoulder. "hope you're ready," she whispered just as max came to a stop beside her.

"hey," he greeted the group but his eyes were on you. "congrats again."

you gave him a smile, shy and unsure, the complete opposite of how you’d felt ripping around circuit gilles villeneuve earlier that day, “thanks again.”

before the awkwardness could settle, alexandra clapped her hands together, “alright, so here's the deal... lando, carmen, george and i are going to go check out the bar across the dance floor with charles. apparently he's doing vodka maple syrup shots or something equally ridiculous.”

lando blinked, “wait, we are?”

“yes,” alexandra snapped, shooting him a 'shut up and follow my lead' look. “it's for the bit.”

“but-” you started, panic rising in your throat as your friends started to all stand up.

alexandra leaned in, close enough only for you to hear. “you’re welcome, babe!”

before you could protest further, the group was moving and within and instant it was just you and max. he let out a sigh and slipped into the spot beside you on the couch, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “our friends are real subtle, huh?”

you laughed, "yeah, i kinda hate them right about now."

max smiled with a shake of his head, "i don't."

you looked over at him and the way he was watching you was maddening. you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the fact that he’d just looked straight at you like you were his next trophy but your brain was a puddle. you tilted your head toward him, trying to sound light, “didn’t we agree to just be friends?”

he shrugged, his fingers circling the rim of his glass as he looked away briefly then back at you. “well yeah but friends can sit too close on a couch, right?” and just like that, he shifted, just an inch, maybe two, closing the space between you so that his leg rested completely against yours.

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything now.. the sweat-slicked air, the warmth radiating off him, the music thrumming like a pulse around you. “friends who sit close,” you echoed, “that’s a dangerous game, no?”

max leaned in, slow and unhurried, his voice low, “only if you don’t want to play.”

“you’re not going to make this easy, are you?” you whispered, eyes locked on his.

a cocky grin spread across his face, “nope.”

you opened your mouth to say something else but he was already moving again. slowly, carefully, max reached for your hand that was resting on your bare leg. his fingers brushed yours, then laced them together. his eyes flicked to yours searching for some sort of protest but when he didn't find it, he moved your hand further and placed it on his thigh causing you to gulp.

“i’ll be good,” he said quietly, with a look that told you he wouldn’t. “that is... unless you want me to be bad.”

you let out a laugh that was loud, unexpected, full of disbelief at both him and yourself, "you? good?"

he looked proud of himself, “for you, maybe.”

“shut up,” you muttered, hiding your smile in your glass as you took a sip but you didn’t move your hand and neither did he.

his thumb traced lazy circles against the top of your hand, the heat of his thigh beneath your palm sending your thoughts into disarray. max leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “I think you like this more than you’re letting on,” he murmured, voice half a dare, half a promise.

you turned your head again just enough to meet his eyes. “and if I do?”

he didn’t answer right away. he just stared at you, gaze dropping briefly to your lips, then back up again - checking, asking. you could’ve said no. you could’ve pulled away. you could’ve reminded him, and yourself, that you were supposed to be keeping things simple. instead, you whispered, “do something about it.”

that was all he needed. max leaned in and kissed you, it was slow at first, like he was testing the waters but the second you kissed him back, squeezing your fingers around his thigh, the tension broke like a wave. his free hand rose to your jaw, steadying you as he deepened it, your lips moving together like they’d been waiting years to do this like every race, every fight, every side-eye in a press conference had been foreplay.

you barely noticed the buzz of noise from the bar fade until it was broken by an unmistakable round of slow, sarcastic clapping. you pulled back from max just in time to see the whole group standing across the room, absolutely beaming like a bunch of proud, meddling idiots.

“about time!” lando shouted, raising his drink in a toast.

max let out a low groan, burying his face in your shoulder for a second before turning to the group with a mock glare.

“you’re welcome!” george called, making a heart with his hands.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t keep the smile off your face as max leaned back in, whispering against your ear, “we’re never living this down, are we?”

you shook your head, still breathless. “not a chance.”

“worth it,” he said, before kissing you again this time without hesitation and definitely without regrets. "lets get out of here."

✿

ynuser has posted to their private story

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lando: i am filled with disgust at 1) the slander and 2) the image and implications of the image

ynuser: you advocated for this to happen let me reminder you AND you told max f within maybe 2 minutes of catching max and i kissing the first time

lando: LIAR

alexandrasaintmluex: you're welcome sweetie pie

ynuser: thank you my knight in shining armour

georgerussell63: brb leaking this as we speak

ynuser: make sure you at least blur out the words so they don't know its you doing it

georgerussell63: already done

maxverstappen1: they'll surely leak it now

ynuser: undoubtedly!

maxverstappen1: thanks for spending the night and the whole day with me.. i wish you didn't have to leave

ynuser: 🥹🥹🥹 i'll be back in a few hours!!

maxverstappen1: hurry

yourbff: GIRL WHAT HAPPENED TO JUST FRIENDS????

ynuser: your honor i am just a girl and to be fair we are still technically just friends…….. with a benefit or two

liamlawson31: is that…… is that max verstappen??

ynuser: can neither confirm nor deny

danielriccardo: thank god honestly

ynuser: real

iamrebeccad: i miss one gp and you win and post a man?

ynuser: yes 😔💔 i wish you were here. i'll catch you up in austria though i promise

✿

you glanced over at max, his face calm and focused as he was in the process of finishing a sim race, fingers moving with casual precision. the hum of the setup was the only sound in the room. he looked so at home like that with his headphones on, tshirt slightly askew, brows drawn in concentration.

you’d spent most of your time off together this past week with lazy mornings, late night drives, quiet dinners on the couch. it felt natural, easy even and like something you should have been doing for a long time. but something about knowing you’d both be flying to austria tomorrow, back into the high-speed chaos of the paddock, made your stomach twist.

you stared at your hands in your lap and whispered, “i don’t want to be friends.”

max didn’t hear you at first or maybe he wasn’t sure he had. his head peeked around the his chair, brows raised. “what was that, liefde?”

you met his eyes and forced the words out clearly, “i don’t want to be friends.”

he paused his game without hesitation, almost startlingly quick. he turned in his chair to face you fully, still wearing that look of confusion, “you don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

“no,” you said quickly, standing and moving toward him. “i mean, yes, obviously I do but not just that. i want… more. i want to be more than just your friend.”

max's shoulders dropped with relief, his lips twitching into a small smile. “you do?”

you nodded, heart pounding. “i do. but… i also want to keep it just ours, at least for now. i know the others know we're seeing each other casually but I don’t want to anyone to know its official official until we’re both ready. just you and me for now.”

max stood up slowly, taking your hand in his. “being yours is all i've ever wanted.”

you grinned and the tension melted off your shoulders. outside, the world waited - austria, media, podiums, gossip, all of it. but in here, it was just you and him and that was more enough.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: i love writing driver!reader fics sm. likes and reblogs appreciated!!!

tagging y'all because you mentioned a part 2 🤍 @agmoon03 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @how-what-why-huh @ceekokocee15 @mydearmoonyy. @rawr-123s-stuff @freyathehuntress

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[prettygirl-gabi]

That Was For You

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: communicating in more ways than one

A/N: Missing P in a uconn jersey hours- also was requested an awhile back!!!

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

There’s a certain kind of magic in Gampel Pavilion when it’s game night—loud, electric, pulsing with energy. But sometimes, that kind of magic is just too much.

Especially for a little girl with custom hearing aids and a soft spot for my girlfriend, and friends.

“Too loud,” JaNae signed to me with a tiny scrunch of her nose, pulling out her hearing aids and placing them gently in my hand.

I nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll tell you what’s happening, okay?”

She nodded and tucked herself into my side, watching the warmups intently.

Paige was already sprinting through layup lines, laughing with Jana, Azzi, Ash, and KK. My eyes tracked her as always—my body calm, my heart wild.

And when she caught my eye, she winked.

Then she noticed JaNae on my lap. No hearing aids.

The next sequence happened slowly. Paige made a beeline for us, crouching just past the court line with a big smile on her face.

She pointed to JaNae and signed, slowly, Hi, Jae.

JaNae perked up immediately.

I watched, stunned and a little emotional, as Paige stumbled through the alphabet with her fingers, trying to spell Paige even though she knew JaNae already had a sign name for her—just the “P” flicked by her heart.

“I’ve been practicing,” Paige said sheepishly to me out loud while still signing the words she could.

My eyes burned. “You didn’t tell me.”

She smiled. “I wanted to surprise you. Azzi and KK have been practicing with me. Coach even brought in someone last week to start teaching us better.”

I couldn’t say anything at first, just leaned in to kiss her sweat-damp cheek. JaNae watched us with giddy interest, then looked back to Paige and signed: Play good.

Paige grinned and signed back: For you.

A month passed, and I noticed the changes almost immediately. Paige and her teammates weren’t just practicing—they were learning. Like, really learning.

They had weekly lessons with a local interpreter.

Paige would send me videos at night of her signing to the mirror, messing up, and then nailing it the second time.

The first time JaNae saw KK sign unicorn correctly during a FaceTime, she screamed so loud she almost broke the phone speaker.

And then came game day.

Gampel was packed. JaNae had her favorite plushie—a mini Husky—tucked under one arm and her other hand gripped mine tight.

She wore a custom “Bueckers 5” jersey with sparkly letters and had her little hoodie pulled up.

Just before warmups, the noise hit a pitch and she tapped my shoulder, frowning.

Too loud, she signed again.

I nodded and gently took the hearing aids from her. “Wanna still watch?”

Yes, she signed, firm.

Then Paige ran over. Behind her came Azzi and KK.

Even Sarah and Morgan followed close behind.

Hi, JaNae, they all signed in near unison.

JaNae beamed.

Dimples deep.

Tiny hands fluttering excitedly.

KK even asked, You okay?

I nearly cried.

Azzi crouched beside the seats to ask what color JaNae’s plushie was. JaNae, all grins, signed grey. Azzi laughed and told her cool.

Sarah had signed, how are the hot-ducks? But slowed down and tried once more signing, how are the hot-dogs.

JaNae signed, really good. thank you for asking.

Somehow Morgan was the only one that didn’t mess on what she wanted to say in sign which was I love your shoes, really sparkly.

JaNae of course was in so much shock she couldn’t respond.

When the buzzer called them back, Paige blew us both a kiss and whispered in my ear, “Remember the sign?”

I smirked. “Chest to you. Got it.”

She nodded. “She’s gonna love it.”

The game was a masterpiece. Paige was electric—fluid, confident, absolutely in her bag. She scored, dished dimes, dove for loose balls like it was a championship.

And when she hit her career high—a wild spin move into a three-point shot that blew the roof off the Pavilion—she didn’t celebrate with her team right away.

She turned toward the court-side seats. Toward us.

And she did it.

I love you—the hand sign. Then she pressed her fingers to her chest. Then pointed straight at JaNae.

“That was for you,” I signed to JaNae as her eyes widened.

She screamed without sound, clapping her hands fast, her eyes lighting up like Christmas. People turned to look at her, some even clapping along.

Paige’s POV

Post-game, I was still buzzed from adrenaline when the press conference started. Azzi was beside me, stretching her legs. KK had a sports drink balanced between her knees, sipping and smiling.

Then a reporter raised their hand. “For Paige, Azzi, and KK—there’s been a lot of buzz on social media about the three of you and the team learning ASL. Can you talk a little about that experience and what prompted it?”

I smiled immediately. “Yeah, absolutely. So, my girlfriend’s niece, JaNae, is deaf. She comes to a lot of games, and sometimes it gets too loud for her hearing aids. One game, I saw her take them off and just sit in Y/N’s lap while she signed the whole game to her.”

I paused. “We realized if JaNae was going to be around us—and we wanted her to be—we needed to do better. So we started taking lessons.”

Azzi chimed in. “It’s honestly been super humbling. It’s like learning a whole new language. You mess up, but then you see JaNae’s face when you get it right and… it’s worth every second.”

KK nodded. “We’ve got flashcards in the locker room. We quiz each other before games. It’s serious.”

A follow-up came fast. “Could the three of you sign a message for the fans watching at home?”

I blinked. “Uhhh… I mean we could… but only if we can get some help to make sure we don’t mess it up.”

I turned to the media coordinator. “Can someone get Y/N and JaNae? They’re just outside.”

Minutes later, JaNae burst into the room like a little storm cloud of energy. Y/N trailed behind, beaming.

JaNae scrambled up beside me and whispered, “Hi, Paigey.”

I grinned, and signed. “Wanna help us sign a message to the fans?”

She nodded fiercely.

The cameras rolled as we all signed Thank you for supporting us. Go Huskies!

JaNae giggled halfway through and gently turned to Azzi. “You did support wrong,” she signed, giggling.

Azzi gasped dramatically. “Not again!”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Okay,” KK said, leaning down, “Can you show us again?”

JaNae took all three of our hands and guided them through the motion. Then she turned to the camera and added her own message: My name is JaNae. Go Huskies!

Dead.

Everyone was dead.

Cameras flashing.

Phones out.

She stole the whole press conference.

After getting dinner and heading back to my place, JaNae finally put her hearing aids back in.

The quiet peace was a huge change from the arena buzz, and she curled up in the beanbag with her plushie.

“Paigey,” she said, voice small but clear. “You were really good.”

I sat down next to her and signed slowly, still speaking. “Thank you. I did it for you.”

She giggled, grabbing my hand. “I saw! You remembered our sign!”

“Of course I did,” I said, kissing her forehead. “It was our secret.”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes soft. “She wouldn’t shut up about it once you went to the back for press.”

JaNae stuck her tongue out. “Because it was the best.”

I looked at her seriously. “Hey. I know sometimes the noise is hard. But we’ll always figure out ways to talk to you, okay? Even if you don’t want to wear those.”

She blinked at me for a moment, then leaned forward and hugged me.

And when I looked up at Y/N, she mouthed, I love you.

I signed it back.

And I meant it with everything in me.

Y/N’s POV

I was already pulling out my phone the moment JaNae scooted back onto the beanbag, still chattering to Paige in that quiet way she always did after a long, loud day.

Her voice was soft but sure now.

Confident.

They were still signing along with their words, Paige correcting herself mid-sentence when JaNae pointed something out with that tiny furrow in her brow. And then they both started laughing.

I hit record, trying to stay quiet as I caught the moment.

Paige was sprawled out beside her like she belonged here.

In our little living room.

In JaNae’s world.

She didn’t rush, didn’t skip signs, even if she stumbled or looked to JaNae for help.

She stayed patient, playful, present.

After a minute, JaNae turned and flashed me a thumbs-up, then dramatically whispered, “Tell the internet I’m her coach.”

I snorted, tears threatening again. Typical JaNae.

By the time I posted the video to my story and feed, my heart was full in ways I hadn’t expected when the day started.

Caption:

my two fav girls bonding even more than they already do… definitely not crying… 🏀& 💫= ♾️

Within minutes, the comments were flooding in.

Azzi: teach me how to say “icon” in sign please

Nika: this better be on SportsCenter

And Paige? She reposted it to her story with the caption:

“All for you, Coach JaNae.”

God, I really loved that girl.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[ithebookhoarder]

Hiiiiiii, Could i request an Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader fic where Anthony married reader who is from a lower class (basically like Theo) and they end up having a fight because reader did something that would be considered out of class or simply wrong while she’s trying to learn to be a viscountess. Sorry if it didn’t make any sense English isn’t my first language 😭😭😭

All's Fair in Love and Cricket (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Synopsis: After getting into a fight with your new husband you decide to settle your differences in a 'sporting' fashion, whilst reminding Anthony once and for all just who he married.

A/N: Ohhhhh boy did I enjoy this one. I'm sorry if it feels a little rushed or clunky in places, I may make some more edits at some point. I struggled with the flow of writing so much action but I loved it too much not to post it. So yeah, anxiety be damned else this would join the rest of the unposted drafts I have stashed away. I hope you enjoy it. 💕

Warnings: Anthony being a stupid idiot, class references (discrimination), reference to illness 

Masterlist

It was late summer and as the sun beat down on the green lawns of St James’ Palace the lords and ladies below began to wilt. Many a woman held her parasol above her head in a desperate attempt to remain cool, which was hard when you wore petticoats and had nothing to do but sit and watch the men play cricket for hours on end.

Even Her Majesty looked like she was struggling to make it through the afternoon's entertainment, her attendants desperately fanning her where she sat under her canopy. They looked close to melting in their ornate gowns, however they were clearly willing to endure if it allowed them to continue admiring the game - and more importantly, those playing it. It was like waving a bone in a dog’s face as they watched all the eligible young men of the court sprinting about the green, their physique and athletic talents on clear display.

No wonder the Queen had her opera glasses with her, despite her proximity to the field. 

You almost felt bad for them, watching as the men were subjected to the same treatment as the young ladies were night after night at social functions… hence the 'almost'. After all, there was a sense of satisfaction watching them preen and dance about like show ponies on display. That, and the view wasn’t exactly a terrible one when your husband was one of those playing. 

You’d have endured sitting on that blasted green a thousand times over, baking in the afternoon sun and surrounded by swooning women, just to watch Anthony Bridgerton as he captained his team. 

Being one of Anthony’s oldest and dearest friends, his competitive nature was well known to you (for which you had one too many games of Pall Mall at Aubrey Hall to thank), but it seemed to be out in full force today. You’d simply lost track of how many times he had dashed back and forth, working up somewhat of a sweat as he barked orders at his teammates in a desperate bid to ensure victory. It was no surprise to you that he had subsequently been forced to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves, exposing his rather sculpted arms to those watching.  

As you said, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon - and normally, you’d have been smugly lapping it up, however, today you were unable to truly enjoy yourself. Not when all you wanted to do was march over to him, take that cricket bat and give him a good whack or two. Maybe that would knock some sense back into idiot… 

That was the issue with being in love with your dearest friend: those who knew you best also knew the best ways to hurt you, and Anthony’s behaviour at dinner the following evening had proven just how true a statement that was. 

It had all started after the entire family had been summoned to the townhouse for a dinner, to toast you and what had so far been a successful first Season as Viscountess Bridgerton. At first, everything had appeared normal, with the usual laughter, merriment, and ease that one would typically experience at a Bridgerton gathering. It was what had first endeared the family to you, back when you had been but a small child, living at Aubrey Hall as the only daughter of their Stable Master. 

They had never been anything other than kind to you, inviting you to play with their children, and join them in their daily lessons. They had also bought you gifts on your birthdays, invited you to join them at events, and even paid for the finest doctors when your father had fallen unwell several years ago. It was as if, to the Bridgertons, your family was their family - an attitude that they extended to the all members of the staff that kept their ancestral seat running. It didn’t matter if you were Head House Keeper, or the greenest of scullery maids. Everyone was counted and cherished, and the Bridgertons had earned utmost loyalty in return. 

The rigid rules and divisions of high society didn’t appear to exist within the wisteria covered walls, and it had been that way well into your young adult life. In fact, it had been you that had initially rejected Anthony when he first declared his love for you one day, after taking you along with him on one of your many afternoon rides. 

You’d been the one to remind him who he was and that society expected him to marry someone they deemed worthy of him and his title - and that wasn’t you. You didn’t have a penny to your name beyond the small sum you’d saved from helping with the younger Bridgerton children as a governess. You didn’t have a title or an estate or anything to bring to a marriage. 

“Except the most important thing!” Anthony had pleaded. “Love… I love you, and there is no one else for me in this life except you. Life is short, terrifyingly short. Look at my mother and father… to be without the person you love most in the world is an agony and I cannot bear it. Please. I can’t lose you. I will not spend my life without you, knowing love is within both of our reach but that we were too afraid to grasp it? If I cannot spend my life, no matter how long it may be, with you then I will have no-one. No-one. My brothers can have the title. I don’t want it. I only want you.”

He’d continued to insist that for the following 6 months, even after his family had moved to their London house for the Season. It didn’t matter how many beautiful, eligible, wealthy heiresses he was introduced to. He would entertain none of them. He would have none of them. Only you. 

It’s what he’d continued to insist until you’d eventually accepted, realising that he was right; Love was the most important thing and you both deserved to have it in your lives, come what may. 

So, you’d said yes. 

You’d become engaged and gradually made your way out into society as the new Viscountess Bridgerton, armed with the support and guidance of the Bridgertons. 

Which brought you to last night and the dinner that had been organised to mark the end of the most challenging, but rewarding, Season of your life - and the dinner had started so wonderfully. Yet, somehow it had all gone to hell in a hand basket in the mere blink of an eye thanks the well meaning, but ill timed, teasing of Colin and Benedict.

Your brothers-in-law had both decided to raise a toast to your first Season as an ‘official’ member of the family and they'd got off to a rather complimentary start, if you were being honest. However, they had somehow moved from their praise on to reminiscing about the many years and many adventures you had had since joining their family.

Whereas every anecdote had caused the rest of the family to spiral into more laughter, your husband had looked more and more infuriated. In fact, Anthony had warned them not too kindly to ‘sit down’ and ‘shut up’ about your childish behaviours, which of course had only encouraged them further. 

“Oh, hush, brother,” Benedict had quipped, raising a glass to your successful debut. “She knows we mean it all in good fun. After all, she once had a phase where she refused to wear shoes and would walk barefoot around the estate, traipsing mud everywhere! I think we’re allowed to be surprised by how far our dear darling Y/N has come.”

“It’s true - It’s a miracle,” Colin added, wiping the tears of laughter from his cheeks. “The transformation is remarkable. Who knew she would go from feral ragamuffin to lofty Lady Bridgerton.” 

Anthony’s only response had been to tighten his grip on his glass to the point it looked like it would shatter. 

Whether it was the residual stress of your busy social calendar, or something else entirely you had no idea. All you did know was that Anthony was angry, and even your gentle touch would not soothe him. 

In a desperate attempt to calm him, you’d pulled Anthony out onto the terrace shortly after dessert had been cleared and asked what was happening. Much to your surprise, he had turned on you, venting about how childish his brothers were and how embarrassing it was that they were discussing things unbefitting someone who was a Viscountess. 

“They’re just joking, my love. They were doing it to get a rise out of you.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” he’d growled, causing you to bristle. “They’re so immature. They need to grow up and realise we’re not children any more. That… that you’re my wife and joint head of this family.”

“So? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Anthony,” you snapped, the warning clear in your tone. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, I just - it - they’re… it’s embarrassing.” 

“So, you’re embarrassed? By what? Your family? Or me? Because everything they said tonight is true. I did do those things, as did you. I may not have been born a noble lady but you knew that when you asked me to marry you. So don’t suddenly act like you're ashamed, that you are somehow better than your family - than me.”

Somehow the argument had only spiralled from there, with both of you saying things you didn’t mean, and with both of you storming off and slamming the doors behind you. 

Even now, sat on the edge of the cricket pitch, the thought made your blood boil. How dare he? How dare he act ashamed of you and the wondrous memories of your youth together? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t grown and matured since then. You had done everything within your power to be worthy of him and his family, and yet all it took was one mention of the girl you had once been to make him upset?

As if sensing your silent fury, Eloise had been glued to your side since the moment you'd left the house. Her company had been a blessing, with her numerous whispered remarks and jokes, making the day almost bearable. One remark in particular from Eloise had caused you to burst out laughing in a most undignified fashion after watching Anthony trip over one of the opposite team - the Duke of Hastings of all people. 

You still weren’t quite sure how they had been positioned on opposite teams, but you were sure there was some kind of wicked divine intervention responsible. Who else would think it a good idea to put two competitive men against one another? Your hosts, perhaps? After all, Lady Danbury and Her Majesty had organised the game and you had learned long ago not to underestimate the women - especially when they decided to conspire together. 

“How long is this delightful game again?” Eloise’s polite remark oozed with sarcasm as she leant back against the tree behind her. 

It was obvious she was bored senseless. In fact, you half suspected she would have already left had her mother not been sat on the opposite side of the green, watching her like a hawk. 

“I’m not sure,” you groaned in reply. “I lost count of who was winning about an hour ago.”

“So, we’re to be trapped here for eternity?”

“Pretty much, considering this part will not end until either Simon or Anthony lose, and we both know that neither one of them will concede defeat easily.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “And I thought they were bad at Pall Mall-”

“-LOOK OUT!”

The cry interrupted both of you as you turned in surprise. Given the so-far sedimentary tone of the day, neither of you had expected such excitement as numerous Lords and Ladies began to hurl themselves out of the way as a stray cricket ball rocketed through the air, towards the crowd. 

“Good god!”

The exclamation seemed apt as both you and Eloise ducked, watching as the ball sailed past, causing several yelps and groans from the people around you. You were pretty sure you also spied a glass of lemonade flying through the air in all the chaos. However, your attention was drawn to the figure charging towards you to retrieve the offending item as it rolled to a stop. 

Anthony.

“Pardon me, Y/N,” he murmured, reaching down to collect the ball that now lay a small distance from your feet. You nodded in greeting, aware of the many eyes watching but you elected not to say anything, not trusting yourself not to make some snide remark.

As it was, you both had barely said more than a handful of words to each other since your argument last night.

Clearly sensing the lingering tension between you, Anthony quickly turned to address his sister instead. “Eloise.”

“Ah, brother," Eloise cheered. "Splendid play so far. Tell me, when did the object of the game become the decapitation of the ton? I would have attended far more cricket matches had I known that was the aim of the game.” 

“You can blame Simon for that one,” he replied, his taunt hidden beneath his neutral smile. “Still, good dodging back there. I thought he might have nearly caught you both.”

“Almost.”

“But alas he missed, like most of your players today,” you quipped, enjoying the way Anthony seemed to redden at the reminder of his team’s less than stellar performance. “Still, good effort. You’ve almost caught up with Her Majesty’s team. I believe that’s better than last year.”

“Well, that might have had something to do with the fact that she does have Simon,” Anthony grumbled. 

It was true, no one could out-run Simon - even if Anthony always gave it a damn good try: hence why the Queen often had him captain her team when he was in London for the season. Besides, the head of the other team was usually Lord Duval, due to his position as the Queen’s chief administrator. However, it seemed his brains and financial strength were all he had, due to the fact his social skills, and athleticism were sorely lacking. 

“Touché, and who is up next?” Eloise asked. 

“I don't actually know. The other team seem to be taking remarkably long to sort themselves out.”

Just then, almost as if on cue, three men began to hurry towards them.

A quick glance revealed that one of the gentlemen who was approaching was Colin Bridgeton, and the other the Duke of Hastings; that much you knew. The third was rather unfamiliar to you, however, you were pretty certain he’d been playing on Simon’s team. Regardless of his identity, neither he nor any of the other gentlemen now stood in front of you looked very pleased. Rather, they looked as if they had all sucked on a lemon, their frowns were so deep.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies, but I must reclaim Lord Bridgerton here for a moment. It appears Anthony will be needed to bowl again,” Simon sighed by way of explanation.

“What on earth for?”

Colin was the first to answer. “Lord Dingby is unable to bowl on account of the heat, and the Baron will not play.” His skepticism was clear as he shot the so called Baron a disapproving look. “He ’twisted his ankle’ or so he claims, thus we are down a bowler and the other team is down a player.”

You all rolled your eyes.

“So then, who will bat?” questioned Eloise curiously. “If Anthony is bowling you still require one more man to take their place on the other team?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour. However, no one appeared to have an answer, and by the disapproving glare steadily growing on the Queen’s face, they didn’t have long to come up with one. 

“Maybe Lord Stevens?” suggested the third man hastily, staring around at the crowd. 

“No. He injured himself riding the other week,” Simon replied. “And unfortunately our hosts only saw fit to invite enough male guests as were playing. We aren’t exactly spoilt for choice regarding possible options.”

It was true. There didn’t seem to be any visible answer in sight given that those most suited to the game were already positioned on the field. 

“What about female guests though?” 

Your question hung in the air for a moment, causing everyone around you to turn in surprise. 

“Excuse me?” Anthony looked at you suspiciously as you began to rise from your seat. He was well versed enough to know when mischief was afoot. A fact that was proven right a moment later as you held your hand out towards a shocked - and excited - Colin.

He was only too happy to oblige your silent request as he placed the bat in your grip. It was rapidly becoming the most exciting event of the season and lord knows he wasn’t about to spoil the fun - especially if he got to rub salt into Anthony’s wounds at the same time. 

After all, given his display the previous evening, it was time you truly gave him something to feel embarrassed about. Losing.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Perfectly,” you smiled. “You’ve seen me when we’ve played Pall Mall. I have a decent enough swing. Besides, you said yourselves you need an extra player and there isn’t exactly anyone suited left - not anyone male, anyway.” 

“Anthony?” 

To his credit, your husband was also smiling, even if you could see the sudden tension forming behind his perfect smile. “I see no problem with it. I’m sure our hosts would prefer the game finished rather than called off because we ran out of players.” 

“Agreed. Well, it’s settled then.” Simon cheered, clapping a hand on Anthony’s shoulder as they looked back towards the field. “It seems she will be taking his go.” 

Then they noticed the rain cloud of a man next to them.

"She can’t play!” protested the third man. Everyone looked at him in silent disbelief. “This is a gentleman’s game. A Lady can not play."

“Her Majesty seems to have no objections,” Eloise commented smugly, glancing across the field. Indeed, it was true Her Majesty seemed to have no objections to the turn of events, choosing instead to exchange a wad of pound notes with the man beside her. If anything she looked exhilarated by the prospect. "Besides, I doubt a feeble female such as ourselves will pose any threat to your team, your Lordship.” 

“Well… I… Bridgerton, I still don’t think-” 

Thankfully, Anthony was all too busy gazing at you to take any notice of the pompous oaf’s objections. 

It was a look you were more than familiar with, the unspoken desire and encouragement obvious in the way his gaze softened. It was the same look he always gave you when you’d done something amazing (and most things were amazing in his eyes). It didn't matter if it was taming a particularly unruly horse, solving a maths problem that left the rest of them scratching their heads, or daring to step onto the dance floor at your first ball, knowing not another soul in that room other than him.  

It was a look that made you feel invincible. That you could do anything and everything you put your mind to as long as you had Anthony cheering you on from the sidelines... you were a team. Always.

"Anthony?" you asked, the challenge obvious - but also your sincerity. If he truly did not want you to play then you'd have marched back to your chair and sat right back down.

You'd meant it before. You loved your husband and wanted nothing more than to be the best partner you could be. Your hurt from last night had stemmed from the fear that, for a moment, that wasn't enough for him anymore.

Fortunately, it appeared you were wrong. Your husband wasn't embarrassed by you. If anything, he looked ready to kiss the ground you walked on as he leaned over and whispered in your ear, "If you can get four runs, I will personally pay you 5 pounds."

"You have a deal," you laughed. "As it is, women and ladies alike play cricket up and down the country. It’s high time we had a chance to show you boys up."

The other man began to protest again. "My Lady, my La-" 

He never got very far. You simply stopped, turning and handing him your parasol and shawl.

"Thank you," you cheered marching away.

He paused, taken aback. It didn’t help that Eloise was only too eager to firmly pull him back into your now vacant seat with a glare that could have melted ice. 

All around applause broke out as the players resumed their positions on the field. It took a moment or two for them to prepare for play but now everyone seemed to be watching intently. 

Oh well, if you were to dare to play at all then you may as well dare to achieve something from it, you mused, gripping the bat handle and aligning yourself with the wicket. Victory seemed a rather good start, especially given the fact you had no idea what Lady Whistledown would make of this turn of affairs. You’d already had a shocking enough entrance into the world of the Ton, what was one more daring display?

"Go easy, Lord Bridgerton," the referee cautioned from the side of the green. 

Anthony nodded obediently at the crowd’s titters. You could see the restraint he was demonstrating, choosing not to hurl the ball at you the way he would had you both been in the privacy of your home. Instead, it took all his will power to grip the cricket ball and resume his position on the field. 

Unfortunately, you never knew when best to desist from poking proverbial bears. That, and Anthony was too easy a target. 

"Yes, do go easy on me," you jibed. Everyone who knew you could hear the sarcasm buried in your voice as you took the bat and fluttered your eyelashes at him. "I’m only a delicate woman, but I must endeavour to ensure her Majesty’s team at least has an opportunity to best you, Lord Bridgerton. You’re only losing by what? A few wickets?" 

Oh. You were in for it now. 

Anthony’s grin was devious as he stepped back a few paces, weighing the ball in his hand till finally he charged at you, swinging his arm over in the perfect bowl. 

It was then you brought up your bat to send the ball back in a high arc. 

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone followed the ball with their eyes. It was as if they couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to hit it. However, the shock quickly wore off as everyone remembered the point of hitting the ball in the first place. 

"GO!" came a yell from the crowd as excitement began to spread. 

So, you did.

Hitching your skirts in one hand, you began to sprint towards the other set of wickets, grinning as your partner passed you along the way. 

Of course, you would have liked to protest that you could have indeed run faster had you not been encumbered by your stays and petticoats. Your slippers were also rather terrible for any movement. What you wouldn’t have given for a pair of trousers right then. 

"Come on!" came another yell - it seemed as if everyone was forgetting their dignity in all the excitement as you tore back and forth across the grass in a mad blur. 

Had it been anyone but you, it would have been a terribly scandalous moment. Yet, your name - and the status of your betrothed - meant this was all merely seen as sport. Besides, from the way Her Majesty was whooping from her perch by the trees, it was clear where her loyalties lay.

"Come on Y/N!"

"Anthony! Run!"

"Over here!"

"Come on!"

The cries blurred into one as you finally turned at what you planned on being your final run, only to spot Anthony as he came sprinting back towards you… and the wicket.

"Oh no, you don’t," you laughed, charging onwards in a final burst of energy. 

You could hardly catch your breath as the world slowed around you. 

All that remained was you, Anthony, and the closing distance between you. 

You could see his desperation laced with delight as he watched you stagger towards the wicket… just as the ball he’d thrown hit it.

"IN!" 

The referee’s declaration initiated an eruption of noise as all around the green, men and women celebrated the spectacle they’d just witnessed, and the victory you had now ensured.  Within seconds you were swarmed, mobbed by well wishers and triumphant team mates. There were so many hugs and snatched ‘well done’s that you were quite at a loss what to do other than stand there and accept it. Thankfully, Anthony seemed to have read your mind and was at your side as soon as he was able to fight through the jubilant throng. 

The moment he reach you he took your hand in his. His expression was a mixture of awe and contrition, clearly unsure what to say to you.

"Good game," he praised. "Simon better watch out - I think Her Majesty will be asking you to captain her team next year."

"What a tremendous idea, Lord Bridgerton. I may just do that."

As if summoned by the very mention of her, a voice rang out clearly from behind you. Without even turning you knew exactly who was standing behind you, as the throng suddenly fell silent around you and parted like the Red Sea. In all the excitement you had failed to notice the Royal party making their way across the field to join in the celebrations. 

With a gulp, you turned and dropped into the most respectful curtsey you could manage without falling flat on your face. "Y - your Majesty."

The Queen chuckled. "I must thank you, Lady Bridgerton, for providing such excitement to our proceedings today. I also must thank you for the twenty pounds I just procured off of Brimbsley - that’ll teach him to bet against me."

You merely dipped your head in gratitude, unsure whether this was actually happening or not. After all, the closest the you’d ever been to monarch was your hasty presentation several months ago and that had barely earned you more than a curious glance, like you had been some exotic animal on parade at the Zoo. And now, the Queen was addressing you? A lowly Stable Master’s daughter? 

It was enough to make you feel as if this was all some kind of surreal dream. 

"Anyone who bets against your Majesty deserves to be relieved of their coin."

"True, True," she preened, gesturing for you and everyone else to rise. "I gather you have played this game before?"

"Growing up around the Bridgertons ensured I had little alternative," you confirmed, relieved when the Queen proceeded to chuckle good-naturedly. 

"I dare say you didn’t, my dear. Well, it certainly makes for a rather entertaining afternoon, as well as a victorious one. Perhaps we aught to have women playing more often." She turned her head and chose to direct her next words directly to your husband. "You’ve chosen quite the bride, Lord Bridgerton - you are to be congratulated on choosing such a spirited partner. I hope you realise how lucky you are."

"Indeed, your Majesty," Anthony replied, the earnestness clear in his eyes. "I’ve realised just how truly unique and remarkable she is… and how lucky I am that she chose to be on my team, even if not on the cricket pitch."

Another round of laughter echoed out at his declaration but you knew it was more than just a jest. In fact, by the all-too-clear pride radiating off of the eldest Bridgerton you knew what he truly meant with his honeyed praise.  

It was all the apology you could need and had you not been in such company you’d have dragged him into the bushes and shown him just how much you forgave him. Besides, your victory on the Cricket pitch was enough pay-back for both of you. 

As if sensing the amorous tension steadily rising around her, the Queen chose that moment to make a well-timed departure, in search of a refreshment. She barely gave you all a final nod before marching off to greet the rest of her guests, leaving you stood there with a rather gobsmacked expression on your face. 

"Well… that really happened," you murmured, struggling to maintain your newfound confidence now that the whole saga had come to an end. "Did I actually just do that? Did the Queen actually just … talk to me?"

"She really did," Anthony confirmed, hands grazing yours nervously, as if unsure whether or not you’d accept his touch. However, your hands accepted his readily, fingers intertwining as you squeezed his palm in an obvious attempt to ground yourself. "You truly were incredible today - I know you don’t need to hear it but, for what it’s worth, I am proud of you." 

"Thank you."

"And I truly am sorry for being such a world class fool, last night," he continued swiftly, clearly keen to make his apology whilst you were willing to receive it. "I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I was embarrassed by you. I never could be. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I was vexed with my brothers and because of several other trivial matters, but I allowed my temper to get the better of me and I handled it poorly. I lashed out at the wrong person - the one person who deserves nothing less than to be told how incredible she is, every single day. I am unworthy of you, Y/N. I know no one else in the entire world so awe inspiring and to let you think otherwise for even a moment was my failing entirely. You are brave and smart and funny and kind and beautiful-"

"Ok, Anthony. I get it."

"-and I am unworthy of someone with such skill on the cricket pitch-"

"Anthony," you squealed, trying to hide your laughter as he pulled you into his arms and smothered your face in kisses. "It’s fine. I forgive you. After all, I also lost my temper and said some things I didn’t mean. Can we just agree we’re both sorry and put this mess behind us?"

"Yes! God yes," he sighed, looking like a weight had visibly lifted from his shoulder. "Because I really do not like fighting with you. Instead, I think we should be enjoying your victory parade. Today is your triumph, after all - the Queen’s champion." 

"Hmmm, I rather like that title," you purred, gazing up at him. "But between us? I prefer being your wife, much much more."

[charlieluver]

shy

The air was crackling with tension, each point played meticulously by both players. First set, Carlos has advantage on a break point. He was at a comfortable lead, 4-2, but getting this game meant he was closer on winning the set without much pressure, just holding onto his serve. The purple shirt hung over his large frame perfectly, biceps flexing, the shorts revealing his toned thighs every time he slides. He looks a little too fine to be playing mercilessly like this. You glance at the stat, 7 minutes game. You eyes are back on him, that quick sprint towards the net, going in for a cross court drop shot which he rarely misses. You knew the game was his. Loud roar rippled through the stadium, while he fiercely screams Vamos as the ball remained unreturned. 5-2.

Sitting down on the cooling bench, you see his shoulders relax just a little, hand fidgeting with the water bottle, face full of concentration. His eyes scan through the crowd as he drinks, his gaze softening as he sees you. Raising an eyebrow, you mock a surprised expression, earning a smile from him, which he barely tries to hide. He places his bottle, shaking his head. Ha, got him He looks so adorable when he's shy You see the camera trying to find what made him laugh, perhaps the fan in a dog costume who jumps up and down, being on the big screen. But the world didn't know yet. You were just a random girl in the crowd who came to see her favourite player's match. The player whose prematch kiss in the hotel room still lingered on your lips, whose sweatshirt hangs over your frame at the moment. The player, who pulled you onto his lap while you tried to clip on his nose strip.

Your player, your man.

You see him giving a quick wink before jogging onto the other side, resuming the match. You knew his fan edits would go crazy, not like you didn't indulge in them when he is away. But you know the wink was for you, for his girl only.

i know i haven't written in a loong time so this is a lil something to keep yall busy 🤭 you could say this was very impulsive because carlos looks so smol here hehe i will be a little less active in the coming weeks but i do hope yall stick around! im working on the request anon i promise! (i don't even know how many ppl read these notes but I just love writing them 😌) divider: @enchanthings masterlist

[sh4nksslvt]

Stuck on You

Some prankster superglues Marco’s hand to yours. You both pretend to hate it… but secretly enjoy staying glued together.

Marco x gn! reader | ONE SHOT

Tags: fluff, flirting, chaos, sfw

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

word count: 3.3k

MINORS DNI!!

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It all started with a prank.

A very bad prank.

One minute you were standing on deck, minding your own business, chatting with Marco about nothing in particular — and the next minute, someone (you had your suspicions) superglued your hand to his.

Literally.

Palm-to-palm.

Fingers intertwined.

"You have got to be kidding me-yoi," Marco muttered, staring down at your very stuck hands with the emotional range of a man who had survived actual wars but could not survive this level of annoyance.

You tugged.

Marco tugged.

Your hands stayed locked together like some sort of romantic death grip.

"…Well," you said, very eloquently.

"Well," Marco echoed, voice utterly dry.

From somewhere behind a barrel, muffled snickering erupted. You both turned in time to see a few crewmates (Ace, you would bet your next paycheck) sprinting away at full speed, laughing their asses off.

Marco sighed heavily. "Should've seen that coming, yoi."

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. "You think they superglued us together… on purpose?"

Marco gave you a long look, deadpan as hell. "…No-yoi. It was a coincidence that someone left industrial-strength glue exactly where we were standing."

You snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "Fair enough, Mr. Smartass."

He smirked, tugging lightly at your conjoined hands again. No dice. You were fused like some godawful romantic statue.

"Guess we’re stuck-yoi."

You both stared at your hands, at each other, at your hands again.

Slowly, you realized the entire deck was staring.

Crewmates leaned against rails, poked their heads out of doors, peered from crow’s nests. Watching. Waiting.

You could almost hear the bets forming.

You hissed under your breath, "Don't make a scene. Act natural."

Marco smiled, the slow lazy kind that made your heart do stupid cartwheels.

"You think we’re good at ‘natural' -yoi?"

You elbowed him (gently, because, you know, superglue). "Walk. Casual. Now."

He obligingly started walking, swinging your joined hands obnoxiously like you were newlyweds on a stroll. You tripped trying to keep up with his stupid long strides, and Marco had the audacity to chuckle under his breath.

"Oh, you're enjoying this," you accused, half-laughing, half-glaring.

Marco tilted his head innocently. "Why wouldn’t I enjoy being glued to such charming company-yoi?"

You blinked.

Heat flared up your neck.

Was that… flirting?! From Marco?!

You decided to play it cool. "Obviously, I'm the lucky one. Being stuck with the infamous cool guy of the crew."

He arched an eyebrow. "Cool guy?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. All mysterious and strong and… broody. You know. Classic heartthrob material."

Marco actually laughed, full-throated and amused.

"You've been spending too much time with Ace, yoi," he said, but his thumb was rubbing slow circles into your knuckles — absent-minded, soft — and he made no move to pull away.

You pretended not to notice.

The ship doctor declared the situation "temporarily incurable" unless you wanted to rip off some skin.

You did not want that.

So you and Marco were officially handcuffed together for the next few hours, possibly longer.

The announcement spread through the ship like wildfire. Everywhere you went, people tried to hide their snickering — and failed spectacularly.

At lunch, you had to sit next to Marco. (Technically, on Marco, because the bench was too narrow and you kept bumping into him.)

Passing plates was a disaster.

You dropped a spoon into Marco’s lap at one point, and he just gave you a look so dry it could set fires.

You grinned sweetly. "Oops."

"You’re doing this on purpose."

"Maybe," you sang, swinging your legs.

Marco grunted — but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

After lunch, things got worse.

You tried to help Marco with paperwork.

Emphasis on tried.

"Hold still, yoi," he muttered, trying to shuffle through documents with one hand while your hand clumsily trailed after his.

"This is your fault," you whispered dramatically.

"You touched me first."

"You glued yourself to me!"

"You leaned into the glue puddle-yoi."

"You—!" you sputtered.

The tension snapped — you both cracked up, laughing so hard the pen rolled off the desk.

Sometime around sunset, you found yourself sitting on the figurehead of the ship, watching the ocean shimmer gold. Marco sat next to you, your hands still hopelessly, ridiculously intertwined.

The atmosphere shifted — soft, quieter.

A breeze tugged at your hair.

Marco turned his head lazily, regarding you out of the corner of his eye.

"You know," he said casually, "if you wanted to hold my hand… you could’ve just asked-yoi"

You almost fell off the ship.

"I did not plan this!" you yelped, cheeks burning hotter than a volcano.

Marco chuckled — that low, warm sound you could feel in your ribs.

"I know," he said, a little softer. "But still."

You glanced down at your hands — how perfectly they fit together, the way his thumb lazily traced circles over your skin without even thinking.

"…It’s not so bad," you admitted, voice small.

Marco smiled.

Not the lazy, cocky smirk he gave everyone else — a real, soft smile that made your heart flutter traitorously.

"Nah-yoi," he agreed, squeezing your hand. "Not bad at all."

When the glue finally wore off (courtesy of some miracle solvent the ship doctor whipped up late at night), you both sat there for a second.

Free.

Hands separated.

No excuse anymore.

Marco looked at you.

You looked at Marco.

Long pause.

"…We’re allowed to hold hands without glue, you know," you blurted, immediately wanting to jump overboard from sheer embarrassment.

Marco laughed — really laughed — and before you could hide your face, he caught your hand again, lacing your fingers together easy as breathing.

"No more excuses-yoi," he said, lips brushing your temple in a featherlight kiss.

You clung tighter.

Maybe being stuck together wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[timble-tumble]

RIN ASKS SAE TO CUT HIS HAIR JUST LIKE HIS AND ENDS UP GETTING A DOOKIE BOWLCUT

TAGS: Fluff, Absolute Pure Crack, Baby Rin, Autism Rin (I call him autism personified once), Sae n Rin when they aren't relentlessly brawling it out with eachother

A/N: I have such great ideas don't I 🤑 Also there's a drawing at the end so like....read my fanfic.

“Nii-chan! Nii-chan! You’re so cool!” The younger Itoshi flails his arms wildly, dropping all his action figures as he runs up to his brother.

“Huh? Oh, hi Rin.” Sae crouches down to give him a hug.

The Itoshi prodigy has just finished (and won) another soccer match, leaving his team gaping in awe and the opposition spitting insults and crying salty tears to their parents. Sae looks over to the crying kids and shrugs, before picking up his bag slung haphazardly on the nearby bench. He then walks over to where Rin abandoned all his toys, picking them up and handing them over to Rin.

”Let’s go home, I’m tired.”

Rin starts walking one of his action figures up his brother’s forearm, “okay! I’m tired too.”

“You didn’t even do anything though.”

“But if you’re tired, I’m tired!”

Sae shakes his head and smiles, ruffling Rin’s hair. “You don’t need to copy everything I do, Rin.”

”But nii-chan!” The little Itoshi pouts, “I wanna be just like you!”

I wanna be just like nii-chan…

Before Sae can say another word, Rin grabs onto his brother’s jersey as he shakes and tugs at the sleeve. “Can you cut my hair like yours? Just like yours!”

”Huh?” Sae pinches a little bit of his bangs as he twirls it around in his fingers, “do you seriously wanna?”

The autism personified squeals, “Yes! I’ll be so cool! Just like my nii-chan.”

“Hm, okay, if you insist. But I’m not that great of a hairdresser-”

Rin goes running off, beelining straight towards their house as he wakes up the whole street by letting out a window-shattering squeal. His older brother quickly sprints after him, readying to hand out apologies to all their neighbours for the nth time and give Rin another stern warning.

~~

The younger Itoshi eagerly swings his legs back and forth on the chair, waiting for Sae to find everything he needs. “Nii-channnnnnn, are you almost done?”

Sae’s head pops up from the kitchen counter, “Yeah, I’m just tryna find a bowl.”

“Why do you need a bowl?”

“You’ll see.”

Sae walks over to his brother, plopping the bowl on top of his head. He then angles the mirror set on the wooden table to Rin, reflecting the little gremlin tapping and readjusting the ceramic like some revered crown. The older Itoshi picks up some craft scissors he found in a random drawer and lines it up with Rin’s way too long bangs.

”Okay Rin, stay still f’me…..”

In one swift CHOP! Rin’s dark green strands fall down onto his lap. He scoops them up with his hands, some strands falling further down onto the floor as his tiny hands barely manage to pick up his copious amounts of hair.

Sae dusts his hands, placing down the scissors as he quickly glances at Rin’s now short bangs that just slightly peek out from underneath the bowl. “Okay, that’s the front done, I’m just gonna chop off a little more at the sides, m’kay?”

“Okay!”

Sae does just that, snipping here and there at Rin’s hair, carefully (or atleast attempting) following the rim of the bowl as a guide. He shifts Rin’s chair to face him, carefully studying his haircut like some soccer match. “Hmm. I think it’s done. What do ya’ think, Rin?”

Sae removes the bowl from Rin’s head as he picks up the mirror, placing it into his brother’s hands. Rin blinks a few times, trying to get the loose hairs out of his face before looking in the mirror.

”Woah! Nii-channnn I look just like you!!” he lets out a big squeal as he grins eagerly. “Thankyou!”

Rin turns to his brother for approval, bouncing up and down on the chair and humming a little tune. While the younger Itoshi was overjoyed, the older one had a puzzled expression painted on his face.

”Huh.” Sae leans over to brush out a few bits of Rin’s newly shortened bangs, revealing it to be rather….uneven. “Hmm,” he then goes to investigate the rest, slowly circling around Rin, “huuuuuh.”

Saddened his own brother doesn’t like it, Rin start to pout. “What’s wrong? Do I not look like you?”

Once the older sibling finished his inspection of Rin’s hair, he returns to face him. “I mean- It’s not-” he scratches his head, “Okay, so Rin- don’t cry when I say this, but uh,” Sae pauses, trying to think of a way to sugarcoat it so he doesn’t have to deal with an upset, screaming kid later on, “but I accidentally cut too much and now you have a bowlcut.”

“WHAT??”

This is my very dookie attempt at drawing Rin w a bowlcut 🤑 (ignore how the sclera isnt white i forgot to erase it) I think Sae did a great job

[naomi-nana]

Hopefully this isn’t too much, can i request Jade, Floyd, Riddle, and Jamil with a female reader who pretends to be a boy in NRC by using a wig and those full face mask (like Momobami Ririka’s mask from Kakegurui), they found out that reader is a female when they saw her asleep in an empty library or somewhere quiet without her mask and wig on. Thank uu and have a great day/night!

✎ᝰ. an amateur disguise . twisted wonderland

in which, you wear a mask to hide your true identity in night raven college. how would they react?

featuring : jade, floyd, riddle, jamil

cw : f!reader, jamil's is short cuz i genuinely don't know how to write his part, may be ooc, bad grammar, not proofread

a/n : helloo! hope u have a great day/night, too!! ╰(*°▽°*)╯ so sorry for taking a little too long than usual ... i lowk struggled writing this, lol. but no worries, i had fun writing regardless!! enjoy reading:)

JADE LEECH

jade is one of the few students many are afraid of, mostly because of his enigmatic nature. so when he sees you walking around in a mask, his curiosity is piqued. he tries everything to see your face beneath that mask—but to no avail.

he'd ask you questions, too. like, "name, is there a reason as to why you're wearing a mask? oh, but don't feel pressured to answer. it is never my intention to force you to tell me—i am just a curious eel, that is all."

you never really answer him, though. you always avoid his question by making up some lies. "oh, look, i have professor crewel's class after this! better get going!" then you sprint down the hallway while he looks at you, smiling to himself and thinking, "is this not the end of the day?"

when jade enters the library to return a book he has been reading, he notices someone sleeping in the library. a girl. wait, a girl? he approaches the sleeping girl slowly, leaning down just enough to examine her face.

and that's when he sees the familiar looking mask beside her head—your head. "oh?" he chuckles upon seeing it. not only do you wear a mask to hide your face, but you're actually a girl? "name, you really need to be careful as to where you put your mask."

he takes it up from the table, gently placing it on your lap to hide it from other people. "it seems like i have succeeded unraveling yet another student's secret." he chuckles again, finally leaving the library while silently wishing to himself that he gets to ask you about it.

but never mind. it's interesting to see you wearing wigs and mask to hide your true identity. he decided to keep that secret to himself.

FLOYD LEECH

when floyd first sees you, his first thought is about how strange and cool you looked with a mask on. he thinks you're like one of those vigilantes he sees in movies.

he asks many questions, too—though unlike jade, he's very blatant about it. "ne, ne~ show me what's under all that mask, shrimpy! no? but why? it's not like you're being hunted by people or somethin'. oh, but are ya actually being hunted?"

you'll have to check first before you leave your classroom because, who knows? floyd could be standing right besides the door (yes, that happened before). of course that won't work. because somehow, even if you're hiding in a top secret place, floyd will find you. creepy, but you've grown used to it.

after running around trying to find you, floyd is bored and decided to just go back to the dorm. and that's when he sees someone sleeping in the courtyard. it's a girl. "woah, no way." he mutters under his breath before approaching the sleeping girl slowly.

he'd poke the girl (is that allowed?) out of curiosity, and when she wakes up, she screams. "hey, don't start screamin'. you're scaring me!" he frowns. "you're the one scaring me with how you're so close to my face!" you yelled back.

huh. the voice sounds so familiar. "whaaat??? shrimpy, that you?? aha!~ is this why you're wearing a mask?? i wasn't expectin' ya to be a girl. what else are ya hidin'? are you actually a super secret agent, too? tell me more!"

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

he'd ask you if you have the permission from the headmage to wear that accessory. if you say yes, he'll let you off the hook.

he's not that curious about how your face looked like as jade and floyd are, but he does find it strange and would like to know why you wear the mask. do you perhaps have a disease? or are you some kind of a famous celebrity like vil?

so when he entered the library to borrow another volume of his favorite book and saw a girl sleeping on one of the tables, he froze. a girl? in NRC? is that allowed? is she perhaps one of the staff's daughter? questions starts to enter his mind as he's trying to find a logical answer to the unusual scene before him.

he decided that it'd be the best solution to just approach her and wake her up—mainly because he doesn't really trust the students in NRC enough to let her sleep here. and so he did just that. "a-ahem, miss ... i apologize for disturbing your nap, but i advise you to not sleep in the library. if i may ask, where do you come from?"

though when the girl literally jolts upwards and screams at the sight of riddle, he's startled. "i-i'm sorry for startling you, but please do not scream, miss. this is a library, and—ah, don't run in the library, too!" riddle sighed when she ran out the door. "honestly, why can't people just respect the rule in the library? ... hm?"

he noticed something. a mask. a very familiar mask. riddle stood still in front of the table where you once slept. "... i guess i should return this to her later ...?"

JAMIL VIPER

when he sees you wearing a mask, he paid no mind to it. he understands if you want to keep a low profile—even though wearing a mask just draws more attention to you, but he gets it. jamil has spent his entire life to be an average student, after all.

yet he can't help but feel suspicious of you. what if you're actually a problem waiting to happen? what if you're a bad person? what if you're an assassin? countless possibilities started to fill his head, but he does little to act on them.

all jamil does is observe you from afar quietly, while also occasionally talk to you. like, "if you are trying to avoid attention by keeping a low profile, wearing a full face mask does the opposite, you know?"

though when jamil walk pass an empty classroom and saw the door slightly creaked open, he can't help but take a peek. what he saw inside is a girl—you, with a mask and your wig literally laying on the table you are sleeping on.

"... figures." he mutters to himself before closing the door. the last thing jamil needs is to experience another drama just because your secret got revealed, after all.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[kathryn-133]

One of my favorite thing about Kimi is that he is always looks semi-horrified by the unhinged comments made by the senior drivers of the grids or is constantly following behind George (so cute!) because he is perpetually confused and has no idea what to do.

I think it's just funny that Mercedes has such high hopes for him to do great things and HE DOES ACCOMPLISH THEM but they also don't prepare him for the post-stufts after it???

Kimi nearly walking away from an interview after the Sprint Race??? Kimi asking where does he go after winning P3 during the cool down lap?? Following George as the race winner goes around hugging everyone in celebration because he doesn't know where to go? KIMI knows NOTHING and Mercedes is like, THIS is the one thing we are NOT going to prepare you for. I swear Kimi just thinks "we win and go home" most of the time and will just be walking away from EVERYONE who are chasing after him for the post- interviews.

[yagirlraee]

rainy day

"kunaa!" you shout from the living room.

you sprint into the kitchen to see sukuna already facing the entrance.

"what now..?" he questions as he leans on the cold marble counter.

it was a sunday morning, about 10:30 in the morning to be exact. before hurriedly dashing into the kitchen, you had been relaxing on your undeniably cozy couch, while binge watching your favorite show yet again. until, you noticed a slight tap on the windows. you almost didn't notice it. but you turned your head to see the clouds had rolled in and were sprinkling water down from above.

"we have to go outside now!" you exclaim. "it's raining!"

"tch, what you've never seen water fall from the sky..?" he rolls his eyes at your ridiculous statement.

"don't give me that," you march over to him and grab his wrist. "we're going outside and that's final." 

you look up at him with a demanding look, and despite him being way taller than you, he sighs and obeys anyway. you quickly leave to grab your coat, boots, and mittens. after suiting up, you doubt that sukuna will be ready.

"kuna! if i come in there an-"

but you were abruptly cut off when you turn the corner to your kitchen and see him standing there with his coat, boots, and mittens as well. you cheekily grin and go open the front door.

and that's how you two got outside on a cold, foggy sunday afternoon. walking the streets of your neighborhood. the faint smell of rain lingers on the sidewalk. the air smells refreshingly cool, and you couldn't be happier. especially after ninety degree weather practically all year long. 

you look over at sukuna to see him already staring at you before swiftly looking away. you giggle and he glares at you now.

"what's so funny?" he asks. 

"you, kuna" you tease.

he groans. you know that he despises that nickname, yet you won't lay off on using it. 

comfortable silence quietly passes by before you wrap your arm around his. he stuffs his hands into his pockets. he hated this warm feeling inside of his gut, the feeling only you cause him to have. 

you two do a few laps around the neighborhood before ultimately deciding to head back home. you both quickly change into your pajamas and jump into bed together. he envelopes you with his huge, meaty arms and you doze off within minutes. he knew you would anyway, so he sighs and gives your forehead a kiss. 

a kiss he would never give you if you were awake.

a/n: cute lil drabble after going inactive for a millennium. 🤠

[subtlenighttribute]

She’s Hurt.

Selkie AU | Reader x Love and Deepspace Boys

(Getting tired of writing all their names lol)

Fluff | Panic | Comfort | Protective Seals

A request, hope you like 💛

---

You only slipped on the rocks.

Just a tumble. A scraped knee. A bruised elbow.

But they didn’t know that yet.

You didn’t even get the chance to stand before the seals came racing out of the water like cannonballs.

---

🐺 Sylus

He didn’t make a noise—just barreled over on strong flippers, threw his body in front of yours like some kind of aquatic guard dog.

His tail flippers slapped the ground once, twice. Eyes wild. Sniffing your arm. Nudging your leg.

You tried to say, “It’s okay,” but he let out this deep, warbling growl that made even the other seals freeze.

Then he shifted.

Just—bam, human, soaking, chest heaving. Naked. His seal pelt on the sand behind him.

“Where does it hurt?” he demanded. “Is it your head? Are you dizzy? Don’t lie—do not lie to me—”

You pointed to your scraped knee.

He dropped to the sand instantly and held your leg like it was made of glass.

“…Okay,” he whispered as he hugged you. “Okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He didn’t let go for a long time.

---

🫧 Rafayel

Rafayel squealed so loud, you thought someone had died.

Then he launched out of the waves like a panicked sausage roll and belly-flopped his way to your side, making distressed seal noises the entire time.

He licked your cheek.

You giggled, “Raf—stop—”

Licked it again.

Then sniffed your hair. Then laid directly across your lap.

You were pinned.

You tried to push him off. “Rafayel, I’m fine—”

He made a tiny hiccupping seal noise and shoved his nose under your hand, trembling slightly.

He didn’t shift, didn’t need to. He just held you with his whole seal body until you were laughing and the sting in your elbow went away.

---

🪨 Zayne

Zayne didn’t rush.

Is what he wants everyone to believe.

He shifted silently mid-sprint, nearly falling, eyes locked on you, jaw clenched. His pelt wrapped around him.

He crouched beside you and inspected your arm with a surgeon’s focus.

“You fell?”

You nodded.

He let out a long, slow breath—then gently took your hand, brushing his thumb over your scraped knuckles.

“Tell me exactly what hurts.”

“…Just my pride.”

That got a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Next time,” he murmured, “you wait. I’ll climb the rocks with you.”

He kissed your fingers. Just once. Just enough to make your heart skip.

---

☀️ Caleb

Caleb shrieked.

You looked up and saw a blur of brown seal hurtling down the beach like a furry torpedo.

He didn’t slow down.

He launched onto you in an absolute panic, snorting and squeaking and spinning in confused circles because—what do you do when the person you like is hurt?!?

Shift? Flail? Cry?

Yes.

He shifted mid-panic, stumbled over your legs, and immediately wrapped his arms around your shoulders. This would be sweet if his pelt wasn't forgotten to the side...

“Are you dying?! You’re not allowed to die!”

“I’m not—”

“You slipped! That’s how it starts!”

You snorted. “Starts?”

“First it’s slipping, then it’s—terminal rock disease! I read a thing!”

You hugged him back, wheezing.

“Caleb,” you said gently. “It’s a scrape.”

He sniffled dramatically. “I was gonna bring you a cool rock today.”

---

🌊 Xavier

He appeared a few minutes after you fell, the pain in your elbow nearly gone already.

Not because he was slow—but because he froze.

Staring from the water’s edge, motionless.

You weren’t sure why until you saw him peaking around the rocks. When he saw you, he shifted into his human form and walked toward you with an expression you couldn’t read. His pelt clutched tightly around him.

“I thought you were gone,” he said.

You blinked. “I—I just fell.”

“I saw you disappear behind the rocks,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I didn’t know what I’d find.”

You tried to make a joke—but then he was in front of you, brushing sand off your shoulder with careful fingers.

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

You didn’t realize you cried until he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

And when you leaned into him, he held you like he never wanted to let go.

---

Later…

You were fine.

A few scrapes, a bruise, nothing serious.

But they still made a pile of themselves around you for the rest of the day—some in seal form, some human, one of them always holding your hand.

Just in case.

And you realized something quietly, somewhere between the sea breeze and the ache in your elbow:

If you ever were seriously hurt…

You wouldn’t even need to call for help.

They’d already be there.