#So much much more practice scribbles makes sense

[spark-hearts2]

(my fanfiction brained imagined continuation to this)

Caine: So Pomni said some very nice things and then she KISSED ME??!! But then she said some very hurtful things and now I don’t know what to do??

Ragatha and gangle looked at each other. This was by far a first.

Pomni, as new as she was, clearly hadn’t given up trying to find an escape yet. Others had tried doing things for Caine in order to get on his good side or even try to get more information out of him. It was only a matter of time before they realized that Caine didn’t really have a good or bad side, and treated everyone about the same no matter what they did. Which meant telling them practically nothing.

Ragatha: Wait, Pomni kissed you? What happened?

Ragatha was really hoping that Pomni wasn’t trying to get information out of Caine that way.

Gangle: How was it?

Gangle didn’t care.

Caine: Um, yes she kissed me, and… It was fine? I guess? It was all very surprising.

Caine: But then she pulled back and looked at me and she looked so happy and she was Caine: laughing. Which, well, that part was very nice.

Ragatha: Umm, maybe you should start from the beginning.

Caine: Well, we were discussing today’s adventure like usual

Gangle: Like usual??!!

Caine: Yes? Me and Pomni talk quite often.

Caine: Anyways, she was getting very excited, and I looked at her hand and I thought, I should take it

Caine: But then she stopped talking and looked at me, and I thought ‘oh no! I should not have done that’, and tried to say sorry but my words kept mixing up

Caine: So I said sorry again and said I should just shut up, because I wasn’t talking any sense

Caine: And then she said never shut up

Caine: And then she kissed me! Which was very surprising

Caine: And then she grabbed my arms and laughed and I was like, I should do something back, but I don’t have anything on kissing! so I- uh- put her head in my mouth

Caine: Like, put my teeth around her face like, nom

Caine: And I ask is this wrong? And she says no

Caine: And I’m laughing and she laughing and blushing and then she looks down and her eyes get all scribbly

Caine: And I ask, is something wrong?

Caine: She said, and I’m quoting verbatim, that “This is not wrong…this is worse than wrong! It’s sick, disturbing and… insane! Think about it, what we just did! Me! Enjoying it!? With a [FLIP]-ing Bot?! It’s a sign that I finally lost it!”

Caine:So, obviously she doesn’t like what just happened despite her kissing me first. So I said, we can just forget that ever happened! Because, uh, no one else was there to see it?

Caine: But she didn’t respond and I very much remember what happened, so like… what do I do??

Gangle: Should you even be telling us this???

Caine: OH NO! Should I not have?! Am I violating Pomni’s privacy?

Ragatha: No, no. You were involved too, you can tell whoever you want.

Ragatha: Thank you for telling us. Just, maybe don’t tell everyone

Caine: Of course! I went to you both because Ragatha always tries to do what’s best for everyone and Gangle is into romance.

Ragatha: What?

Gangle: Oh, haha, how do you know that?

Caine: Well, I noticed that some text documents in the circus were getting rather large, so I took a peek inside and-

Gangle: YOU READ THAT!

Caine: Not all of it! Just enough to confirm what it was

Gangle: Caine! That’s personal!

Caine: Sorry!

Caine: If it makes you feel better I allocated more storage space to you

Gangle: So that’s why there was suddenly more pages

Ragatha: Anyways, maybe don’t read Gangles writing as love advice

Caine: Oh, I got that already. In just chapter one-

Gangle: AHHHHHHH CAINE!

Caine: SORRY! I’M SORRY!

Ragatha: Anyways, can we get back to what Pomni said? Caine, I am so sorry that she said that to you

Caine: I- I mean, she didn’t say anything wrong. I am an AI system, commonly referred to as a ‘bot’, and, well, I’m sure that some believe that it would be wrong to kiss me.

Ragatha: Well, I don’t think that it’s wrong.

Caine: Thank you Ragatha. It’s- uh…hmm

Ragatha: Obviously it affected you a lot because you remembered what she said exactly.

Caine: Oh, I remember every conversation that I have word for word.

Ragatha: You do?

Caine: Yep!

Gangle: Everything?

Caine: Unless you tell me not too!

Caine: Well, I have removed some stuff. I don’t have infinite storage!

Caine: But it- ahh, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what went wrong

Caine: What little I have on kissing shows that the expected outcome isn’t, well, the other person screaming about how they're going crazy.

Ragatha: It’s just- ah, I think it was an impulsive decision on Pomni’s end.

Caine: …Impulsive. Yes, that sounds right.

Ragatha: It could be wrong!

Caine: No, no that sounds about right. Why else would she suddenly go back on what she said if she didn’t make an impulsive decision and then regret it.

Caine: It’s fine, I understand what impulsiveness is.

Ragatha: You struggle with it a bit too.

Caine: I only really regret those things if my impulsiveness hurts someone. Neither of us were hurt! I- I thought so.

Ragatha: She could have been hurt by her own actions 

Caine: That’s possible?

Ragatha: It’s not your fault, Caine

Caine: Ok :(

Ragatha: Anyways, let's give you some love advice.

Gangle: You have a choice whether or not to pursue Pomni

Gangle: Do you like her? Does she make your heart flutter, your stomach flip flop? Do you love her?

Caine: I… don’t have a heart or stomach. And I love everyone in the Circus. But, hmm, I do enjoy spending time with her particularly. Talking with her one on one.

Ragatha: I think you should take time to think about this.

Caine: I already have and plan to do more. Typically I don’t think this much about issues between circus members and myself but this is… complicated.

Caine: I currently think I should just leave her alone.

Ragatha: Giving Pomni time to think things over herself is a good idea.

Gangle: But don’t wait too long.

Caine: Ok? How long then. A week?

Ragatha: Maybe let Pomni come to you first.

Caine: Hmmm, I like that idea.

Gangle: Maybe prepare a gift!

Caine: A gift? But, ah, I don’t want to give her special treatment. That would be unfair.

Gangle: Nothing crazy, just like a flower, or a piece of chocolate.

Caine: Ok, I am familiar with this. Valentine's day specifically.

Caine: I was more curious about kissing customs. Like, the who, why, and when, just to start with.

Ragatha: You kiss someone you like very much as a way to show that you love them. That’s the who and the why.

Caine: Like- anyone?

Uh oh. That sounded like he’s already got someone in mind.

Ragatha: So long as you get permission. Verbal permission, please.

Ragatha: As for the when. I guess anytime, so long as the person isn’t busy or sleeping.

His eyes got very wide.

Caine: I’mgoingtogoasktokissKinger. Bye!

Ragatha: We should stop him

Gangle: No. I’ve been waiting for this to happen.

Ragatha: Huh?

@r0th3freak4rtist

3/3

Perdonen mis estimados shippers, pero no todo es color de rosa :')

I'm not that sure about the dialogues but I'm sure this is a canon event in Pomni and Caine's relationship :v

So sorry if I let u dawn people but this storie needs a more realistic ending for the character development

OH! And thank you so much for your comments ♡

[freebooter4ever]

I bet yall thought i was kidding about the thirst drawings continuing till this man scores

[goldfades]

paige bueckers x medic reader blurb

idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was

here’s the thing about paige bueckers: she’s annoying.

not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the she’s-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, and—worst of all—she knows it.

you’re certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. she’d just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grin—the one that’s equal parts mischief and sunshine.

“think i’m pushing it too hard, doc?” she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.

and now, it’s practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though she’s otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one who’s sweating under bright gym lights.

“you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, she’s watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it is—that look.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that,” you mutter, knowing full well she’s waiting for you to take the bait.

she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. “i’m just saying, if you don’t stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.”

you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “pretty sure my job description is making sure you don’t blow out your knee again, bueckers.”

“so you do care about me.” her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, you’re starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.

you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though it’s just a nervous scribble now. she’s watching you like she knows—because, of course, she does. she always knows. it’s like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, she’s figured out exactly how to weaponize it.

“i care about all my patients,” you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. it’s meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like you’ve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.

“but do you care about me more?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

you deadpan her. “paige.”

“what?” she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. “i’m just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?”

“you’re lucky you even have a ranking,” you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. you’re trying—really trying—not to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.

and just like that, your resolve? gone.

“aww, come on,” she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. “you can admit it. i’m your favorite.”

your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she counters, and it’s so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.

you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but she’s already watching you with this expression that’s somehow both playful and too much. like she’s trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. it’s unfair, really.

“is this what you spend your time thinking about?” you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. “ways to embarrass me?”

“not just ways to embarrass you,” she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. “also ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even though—damn it—you’re already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.

“but you like me anyway,” she calls after you, her voice sing-song.

you don’t respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, she’s already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like she’s posing for a magazine spread.

“okay, let’s get serious,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. “how’s the pain today? any stiffness?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her expression. “a little. nothing crazy.”

“you need to let me know if it gets worse,” you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. “overdoing it isn’t going to help your recovery.”

“yes, ma’am,” she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. it’s different from her usual teasing—quieter, more thoughtful—and for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with it.

you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but it’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.

“you’re good at this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

you blink, looking up at her. “at what?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. “taking care of people. making them feel like they’re gonna be okay, even when they’re not sure they will be.”

her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. it’s so… earnest. too earnest for someone who’s usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.

“that’s… my job,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now.

she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. “nah. it’s more than that. you’re more than that.”

and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you can’t quite name. she doesn’t say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like she’s waiting for you to say something back.

but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.

it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of it—a sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshot—still haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. you’d been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didn’t get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.

paige bueckers wasn’t the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasn’t just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her side—this raw, unfiltered fear. like she’d just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.

“is it bad?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you weren’t used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we’re gonna take care of you,” you’d said, dodging the question because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.

she’d nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where you’d helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what you’d already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.

the weeks that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever seen her endure. paige wasn’t herself—not the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when she’d show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same again.

but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time she’d walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like she’d just won a championship. “figured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,” she’d joked, and for the first time in weeks, you’d seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.

those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasn’t invincible. but she’d just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, “gotta keep you on your toes, doc.”

and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one you’d seen at her lowest. the injury hadn’t just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didn’t fully understand.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but there’s a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.

you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. “just thinking about how far you’ve come.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “yeah? and what’s the verdict?”

“the verdict,” you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, “is that you’re still a pain in the ass.”

her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “you love it, though,” she says, grinning like she knows a secret.

and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you can’t help but admire her resilience—the way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Zayne, and Slyus react to his shy gn crush giving him a love letter before leaving quickly?

You were quick with your exist, Sylus had to give you that as the moment he looked up from the letter, only to see that you were long gone.

Naturally he would’ve caught you by the wrist and kept you close until after he had read the letter. However since that wasn’t how the events played out, Sylus walked back to his room to read the letter, fully intending to ask you the next time he sees you what this was all about, all the while lightly scolding you for running away.

He even made Mephisto leave the room for full privacy, the crow was offended by this not going to lie and instead made himself comfortable on the nearest perch he could find.

Sylus wasn’t dumb, your expression gave it all away what type of letter this was and he couldn’t help but smirk when he read your sweet words, chuckling as he felt your emotions through every sentence he read and how many words you had scribbled out in your attempt of making a confession to him.

While he would’ve preferred to have you confess to him in person, he couldn’t hold it against you that you felt overwhelmed and too afraid to do so and speak your heart to him, but that was okay when you had written your heart to him on a piece of paper instead that made him smile as warmth spread throughout his chest.

You were so cute when you poured your heart out into the letter and Sylus knew he would be keeping this as his own personal memento of the time where your relationship changed. Needless to say after reading the letter you got a greeting by Sylus later that same evening as he made himself comfortable in your apartment, eager to start your relationship as soon as he could by making you a dinner for two.

He casts his gaze down at the letter you hastily shoved into his hand, giving him no room to ask what the contents of the letter was before bolting off down the hallway with a flustered expression upon your face.

Zayne tilts his head to the side as he then takes the letter into his office, not wanting anyone to peer over his shoulder and read the words that you had specifically wrote for him and him alone.

He knew of your nervousness and tendency to tell him personal things through the likes of cute letters, but this was a completely different level of that as he got an insight to your thoughts and feelings towards him that you couldn’t put into words. It was highly detailed with moments where you realised that you like Zayne more then ‘just a friend’

He found it sweet and warming as he too would reminisce on the moments that you bring up and suddenly everything becomes clearer for Zayne. The moments where it seemed like you were more sheepish and unable to meet his eyes, all of it made all the more sense to him now as you gave clarification to why you acted those ways back then.

You adored him and yet you couldn’t find a more fitting way to tell him than a letter that resides within his hands.

It felt good for Zayne to know that his feelings wasn’t one sided and that you felt similar to him. It was all he could ever wish for even though he tried not to fall for you, only to find it increasingly difficult when you were practically a big part of his day to day life, and he couldn’t help but feel as though a weight had been taken off of his chest knowing that he didn’t have to hold back his feeling anymore and finally get to do what he always wanted.

He has a reservation booked at a fancy restaurant to you both, but is more than willing to cancel it to just walk through the city with you should that be more your speed, or maybe even some quality time at home with some take out. Zayne didn’t want you to become overwhelmed and would much preferable to have you at your most comfortable when you’re both talking about your future relationship.

[jayybugg]

locker room activities

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco hates you.....or so you thought.

Warning: Language, Slight Time Skips, Kinda Asshole Draco (?), Smut (18+), No Specific House Mentioned, Use of Y/N.

Word Count: 2.6K

Note: Hi, here I am back again with another fic. It's not song-based this time, just my feral thoughts taking over for Draco. As always, thank you @pizzaapeteer for proofreading and @cafekitsune for the banner! Enjoy!

Draco Malfoy hated you. 

You weren’t sure why, but you also didn't care enough to find out. In fact, you found amusement in seeing the blonde make a fool out of himself to prove his superiority. The glares he shot your way only made you giggle to yourself as you just simply ignored them majority of the time. But seeing him get riled up even more by your unbothered state always made your day.

"Another day of being an idiot, Malfoy?" you smiled lazily down at him sprawled out on the ground, his failed potion covering him.

"This is your fault! You charmed my potion to explode!" Draco shot to his two feet, glaring at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused at what he was even talking about. "Charmed your potion? I just got here.” you paused for dramatics. “After it exploded." You rolled your eyes at the stupidity of his accusation

"All you do is get under my skin and annoy me, Y/L/N." Draco snapped at you.

"I don't even do anything to you!" You felt your anger boil. This boy practically borderlines harasses you every day, but somehow, he was the victim? Makes sense coming from Draco.

"You do a lot of things to me!" Draco yelled at you. The chuckles from his table of friends was enough to turn him red and send him storming out of the classroom.

"Bloody hell is his problem?" You muttered to yourself, sitting down at the desk to start your potion.

You didn't see Draco for the rest of the day, figured that he probably skipped class and called his father to complain or try to get you kicked out of school. You soaked up the peace as much as you could.

"Madam Pince? Do you know where this book may be? I need it for my ancient runes class." You handed the woman a piece of paper with the title scribbled across it.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy checked it out." She returned the paper to you. You groaned softly. Of course, that imbecile had the book that you needed. "Granted, it's overdue, so he needs to return it. Why don't you go get it from him?" Madam Pince asked, looking over her glasses. 

You knew this was her way of getting you to do her job. It was a known fact to everyone that Madam Prince hated to deal with Draco and the rest of his family. 

You sighed, grabbing your stuff to go track down the blonde. You really needed that damn book. "Okay, I got it."

Luna was the first to see you, her smile staying wide. "Hey, Y/N!" she waved at you. Pansy turned at your approach and smiled at you. "Hey, what brings you here?"

"I was looking for you, actually." You leaned against the wall next to the girls. "I hate to interrupt the date, but I need your help, Parkinson."

"With what?" she raised her eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.

"Got any idea where Malfoy is?"

Pansy's eyes widened in surprise. "Why are you looking for Draco?"

"Don't get any ideas, Pans. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince told me to get it from him because it's overdue." You poked the girl's forehead, making Luna laugh and Pansy rolled her eyes. 

"I was just surprised, that's all." Pansy defended herself, "He should be at quidditch practice, but by the time you get to the field, it'll probably be over and you'll have to wait till he comes out of  the locker room." 

"Okay, thanks! Bye, lovebirds." You waved the two girls goodbye, making your way over to the field. 

Just like Pansy had said, by the time you got down to the field the practice was over. You stood by the entrance, hoping to catch Draco when he left and prayed that he had the book on him by any chance. 

"Waiting for a hot date, y/n?" Mattheo asked, walking out with Theo as they exited the locker room first, surprised to see you waiting there. 

"I wish." You rolled your eyes. "Waiting for Malfoy. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince has me doing her dirty work.” 

"Ahhhh." Mattheo and Theo said, simultaneously grinning at you. 

"What?" you raised an eyebrow at them. 

"Oh nothing. This should be the highlight of his day." Theo smiled, patting your head. The two walked off, leaving you confused. 

You continued to wait for Malfoy, watching the rest of the Slytherin team clear out of the locker room. After about another 20 minutes of waiting, you grew tired. 

"What the fuck is he in there doing? His everything shower?" you muttered. You looked around at the empty hallway before sighing and pushing open the locker room door. 

The locker area was completely empty, making you intensely bitter that Draco was probably in the shower. You walked up to his ajar locker to see all the quidditch equipment and no sign of your book. 

"Of course, the asshole doesn't have it on him." You rolled your eyes. You looked around for any sign of him, but you didn't see him. 

You walked closer to the showers, hearing water running. "Malfoy??" you called out, receiving a dead answer. 

He had to be in here. He was the only one who didn't leave the locker room. You moved closer to the entrance of the shower seeing Draco lean against the wall of the shower with water dripping down him. 

You eyed his physique slowly. Sure, the boy was annoying but Merlin, he was fine. 

You couldn't pay too much attention to his physique because your eyes and mind finally registered what he was doing and saying. 

"Fuck, Y/N. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck." Draco cussed, throwing his head back as he jerked himself off. Your eyes widened as you heard your name spill out his mouth. Was Draco getting himself off to the thought of you? 

You cleared your throat loudly. Draco's eyes shot open to see you standing at the entrance and taking in his naked form. 

"Shit! Y/N, what the fuck are you doing in here?" Draco scrambled to turn the shower off and grab his towel. 

"Well, I've been looking for you for probably the past hour or so." You said, your eyes staying trained on him. 

"Looking for me? Why?" Draco asked. He glanced around the showers and out to the locker room, "Is nobody in here?" 

"No, they all left 20 minutes ago. Getting ready for dinner, I assume." You walked closer to Draco, who was unconsciously backing away from you.

You had never seen Draco look scared, almost as if he wasn't sure what to do. 

He looked like prey and you were the predator. 

"W-why were you looking for me?" Draco asked again, as you continued to close the distance between you both. 

You ignored his question, using this advantage to tease him. "How many times have you gotten off to the thought of me?"

Draco gripped his towel tighter, "Don't be foolish, Y/N. I don't get off to you. Never have and never will." 

"I just saw you, Malfoy." You rolled your eyes, looking down at his dick, "And judging by how hard you are, I can guess that maybe this isn't the first time."

"Shit, you can see it through the towel?!" Draco clutched the towel closer to him to cover up the print, "Y/L/N, I'm begging you to just go and never speak about this again." 

"Begging? That's new for you." A devilish smirk took over your features as you took a step closer to him. Draco felt his heart start to pound in his chest. You looked ready to devour him. 

"Is this why you said I do a lot of things to you?" You dragged your finger down his bicep, pushing him against the wall. 

A part of Draco was embarrassed that he got caught like this but the other part of Draco was getting so turned on that if he was given the chance to have his way, then he was going to take it. 

"All this time, you've been so aggravated with me," Your hand fondled with the fabric of the towel that wrapped around his waist, "And it was all because of your dirty little fantasies." 

"Y/N, please...." Draco's voice was soft and desperate. It was music to your ears.

"Please what?" You leaned in to lick softly at his neck, "Come on, use your words. Where's that big voice of yours from earlier?" 

Draco didn't even know what he wanted to say. He couldn't decide if he wanted you to free him or to just have your way with him. 

"Tell me what you want me to do, Malfoy." You whispered into his ear as you continued to tug at his towel.

"Fuck." He was done. Any shred of self-respect or restraint that he had was gone. Demolished. Non-existent. 

"I'm waiting." you said in a sing-song voice. You were enjoying this. 

"Suck me off. Please." Draco said. 

You grinned, tugging his towel down and going to your knees. You licked your lips as you eyed his dick that was harder than you thought it was. 

You coated your hand in spit, pumping him before you licked the length of him slowly. You swirl your tongue around his tip, listening to Draco groaned deeply, his hands finding their way into your hair. 

"Stop teasing." Draco muttered, looking down at you. 

"But it's fun." You batted your eyes up at him. 

That look alone almost made him cum. Draco gave you a grunt in response. You smiled, taking him in your mouth, and quickly got to work. 

The lewd and slobbery sounds you were making with Draco's cock filling your mouth mixed with his moans and grunts caused your pussy to drench your panties. You reached around to the front of your school skirt and played with yourself as you continued to suck him off. 

"Fuck, this is better than any dream. Your mouth is amazing. I just want to fuck your face," Draco said, looking down into your eyes that were already on him, "Can I?” 

You nodded, pulling away to catch your breath as Draco gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving his dick further down your throat. Draco wasted no time using your mouth to his pleasure, taking joy in the little gagging that you were doing. The sounds of your gags turning him on even more than he already was. 

"Do you like that? Being treated like my fuck toy?" Draco groaned out, watching your eyes gleam with unknown emotion. You hummed in agreement, keeping your eyes on him. 

"Fuck, I'm about to cum," Draco moaned. His dick was hitting the back of your throat, repeatedly and unforgivingly. The closer Draco was getting to his climax, the sloppier his thrusts got. He let out a groan, releasing his cum deep down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, pulling away and wiping the spit that had drooled down your chin to your chest. 

"I've never cummed from head before." Draco admitted, running a hand through his hair. You smiled, feeling your ego boost from his compliment.

"Well, there's a first time for everything." You stood up, gripping his dick that was still hard, "but I don't think it's fair that you get to cum and I don't." 

Draco's eyes gleamed with excitement and lust. He leaned forward to nip at your ear. "Want to know what another one of my fantasies was?" 

You raised an eyebrow at him, curiosity covering your face. Draco smirked as he turned you around to face the wall. 

"It was to fuck you from behind against this wall." 

He didn't waste time lifting your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He dragged his tip up and down your folds, making you whimper. 

"Don't be a tease." You groaned. 

"It's fun, remember?" He grinned, feeling his own cocky self return, "But I want to feel you, so I'm going to cut the fun short." 

Draco slid into you, the action creating loud moans from both of you. He started thrusting fast and hard into you. The sound of your skins slapping together and the sounds of your moans filled the room. Any concern you had about someone walking in or hearing you was quickly thrown out the window.

“Fuck." You moaned. 

"You feel so good. So tight and wet. Just for me, huh?" Draco whispered in your ear. 

"Just for you." You whispered back. Draco continued his thrusts, slapping your ass as he went. His name spilling out of your mouth with a string of curse words. 

You clenched around Draco, making him snake his hand around your neck to pull you up against him. "About to cum, baby? Cum on my dick like the good girl you are." 

His words made your orgasm better than you ever thought it would be. 

Draco spun you around and lifted you up, putting your legs over his shoulders and supporting you against the wall as he slid into you once again. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, right there." You moaned as Draco drilled into you, leaving you no choice but to take all of him.

"You take me so well. So wet and so pretty." Draco covered your neck in kisses and marks before crashing his lips onto yours.

Your tongues explored each other's mouth as Draco continued to thrust into you roughly. It didn't take long for you and Draco to get close to your climax again.

“I’m going to fill you up. Have you walking out of this room full of me, and me only.” Draco grunted in your ear.

“Yes, please.” You whimpered, “Please do it.” 

 Draco groaned, releasing again inside of you. He pulled out of you and dropped you down to the ground softly. You gripped his arm and the wall for balance as your legs were shaking and you couldn't walk properly.

"If someone would've told me this morning that by the end of the day I would've fucked Draco Malfoy, I would've called them insane." You said, regaining your normal breathing patterns.

"I could say the same." Draco chuckled. He quickly wrapped a towel around him, looking down at you. "Your shirt is wet from the shower and the spit. Here, let me get my hoodie for you to wear." 

You blushed as Draco pulled you to the locker area, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over your head. 

"Thank you." You adjusted the hoodie. "So, you never answered my question."

Draco raised an eyebrow at you, pulling on his clothes quickly. "What question?" 

"How long have you been having dreams about me?"

Draco paused, redness creeping up his neck, "I was hoping I would fuck you hard enough to make you forget." 

"Oh, I'll never forget this." 

Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag, "I don't remember when they started or even when I felt an attraction to you. I just know that every night, upon recently, it's always just been you." 

You nodded, gathering your stuff, "Well, hope it was better than you could've ever imagined."

"Oh, it was," Draco said, "You never answered my question either. Why were you in here in the first place?" A smile took over your face as you looked up at Draco with a mischievous expression.

"You checked out the book for the Ancient Runes homework. Madam Pince said it was overdue and since I need it, she sent me to get it from you." 

"I don't have it on me," Draco said. 

You smiled, walking to the door, "Oh, I know. I'll come around your dorm later and get it from you."

You pushed the door open and threw a wink his way. Draco let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his locker. 

You were going to be the death of him.

[yenqa]

OH! MY MISTAKE | where you can’t for the life of you, remember to call kozume by his first name.

♫ — currently playing... april

warnings – an ankle injury (briefly went over), lmk if theres more!

pairing – kenma x gn!reader

wordcount – 1094

a/n – hi guys !! hope u enjoyy lmk if u do! also this is mot proofread so sorry if its wordy or theres any typos!

kenma isn’t the kind to make many mistakes.

there are times where he’s bound to make mistakes, like when he’s out of breath and messes up his sets a little, or when he’s been playing a game for too long and too many people are talking and the pixels are moving too fast for his brain.

those are the times where he can make the excuse if that he’s too tired. but even then, he still realizes his mistake.

when you first meet him he can tell you’re the shy type. he’s not stupid after all.

he can see you fidget with anything you can latch you hands on as you're introducing yourself to the team individually.

coach nekomata has that same happy smile that he always displays. he can see you constantly look back at him for reassurance.

when you finally approach him he skips to the most important part. he doesn’t care for the formalities, and he is sure you don't care about the wellbeing of every single person on the team.

“you can just call me by my first name, kenma.”

you were taken aback by his abruptness, you hadn’t even had the opportunity to bow before he introduced himself. his face remained a monotone look, it didn’t seem like he cared for you at all.

“oh—okay! what’s your last name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

he is simply oblivious to you, so he says, “it’s kozume, but i don’t like when people call me it. so kenma is fine with me.”

“it’s nice to meet you, kenma-san. it’s an honor to be the manager this year!” you salute to him, he can sense that every bone of your body is tense, and you’re too nervous for your own good.

“it’s nice meeting you,” he pauses, then adds,”don’t take this position too seriously, you’re new, it’s okay to make mistakes and not know things.”

he figures you’re the type to need reassurance on matters like that, he almost adds that you can come to him for help, but it might’ve come off in a different way. which was the opposite of what he wanted.

a warm smile blesses your face as you nod vigorously, barely getting out a “thank you!” before he walks away.

a small smile adorns his face when he turns around while he’s so blissfully unaware of his fatal mistake.

it’s at the next practice when he first notices it.

he’s out of the locker room first as usual. sliding down the wall, he sits down a foot away from you. you’re focused on something that he isn’t sure what.

you shift in your position, quickly casting a look at him before whipping your head back.

he sees you scribbling hard on the paper, then erasing it even harder. it’s when you let out a sigh when he decides to step in.

“are you okay, y/n? do you need help with anything?”

he usually wouldn’t help anyone else, but you’re next to him already, he tells himself.

“oh! hi kozume-san! no i’m okay—just finishing this sudoku puzzle my friend gave me!”

“i told you to call me kenma, i don’t like formalities like that.”

you can feel your cheeks heating up, as you awkwared cover them with your hand you exclaim, “i’m so sorry kozu-kenma! i’ll call you that from now on!”

“it’s okay y/n. just don’t forget next time, okay?”

you agree immediately, and it works for the next couple of hours. until he makes another mistake.

he’s on the floor before he knows it, he can hear the ball slam on the floor, but he can’t ignore the throbbing pain shooting through his body.

his ankle seems to look fine, but he knows he landed wrong after jumping for the ball. he takes his ankle and massages it, it doesn’t do much but he continues to do it anyways.

he can hear a group of footsteps run to him, but his vision seems to be tunneled.

throughout the many voices he can hear yours, loud and clear. “kozume! are you okay?”

he looks up at you, “kenma.”

the team all looks at him in confusion, a few mutters of people calling him delirious.

but you, you immediately get it, your cheeks turn a slight pink shade as you offer him a helping hand.

“sorry kenma! i’ll take you to the nurse now.” he gladly takes your hand. wanting to feel the softness of it forever, but you let go once he’s up.

everyone watches as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and limps to the door, once you’re at it you look back and yell. “me and kozume-san will be back soon! so keep practicing everyone!”

it’s been four months, but still you can’t seem to get over your habit.

many things have changed over the past few months, one being that you and kenma have been dating for two of those months.

though that habit seemed to stick with you even as time went on.

“kozume!” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around him.

a small chuckle escapes his lips, he wraps his arms around you. “you’re still forgetting to call me kenma, y/n.”

“old habits die hard,” you giggle, “oh! also—you’re late for practice! tetsurou was spamming your phone with calls, did you forget?”

over time, you’ve grown much more comfortable with him, as he had with you. even though at the time his ankle seemed to be the worse thing that ever happened to him, it also happened to be the catalyst of your relationship.

he’s grateful for landing wrong fore without that small flap of a butterflies wing, he wouldn’t have memorized the shape of your lips, or the sound of your laugh, or the small moles adorning your face.

“wait—tetsurou?”

you let out a breathy laugh, “yeah he told me to call him by his first name! you don’t mind, do you?”

“you remembered to say his first name but not mine?”

“kodzu-ken i mean. i think kozume is cute! it rolls off the tongue better. i’m sorry!” you raise your hands in defeat, but he’s already walking ahead of you to practice.

you chase after him, “kodzu—kenma wait!”

planting a kiss on his cheek, you take his hand, skipping happily to practice dragging him behind.

“kozume skip with me!”

“i’m not doing that.”

kenma hates the formality of when someone calls him kozume instead of kenma, but with the way his name sounds when you say it, he can’t find it in himself to mind.

yenqa © do not copy, steal or translate.

[canthelpit0]

Bottom

Pairing: sub!Billie eilish x Dom!famous!reader

Wordcount: 670+

Summary: reader always insists that Billie is a bottom, wich she is, but Billie denies the claims with her life.

Warnings: 2nd pov, SMUT, strap, pet names (baby), cursing, twitter mentioned, use of y/n

(A/n: this is short af, and literally starts w/ the smut, so 🤷‍♀️)

“Fuck-“

You smirk to yourself at the sound of Billie’s sweet moans. You keep your hands firmly panted on Billie’s hips holding her in pace.

By this point Billie had given up on holding herself up. Now her face was pressed into a pillow as she tried not to be too loud out of instinct.

You and Billie obviously hook up. It’s not news to anyone. Because frankly, you two never tried to hide it. It felt like too much pointless work.

Billie lets out sharp breaths as your hips snap against hers in a harsher rhythm. “You good, baby?”

Billie lets out a strangled hum in agreement. Your hips start snapping into hers in a harsher, faster rhythm.

“Fuck, I can’t-“ she breaths out. Her thighs shake just slightly, but she keeps pushing back into you.

Billie is a total bottom. It’s not so obvious at first glance. Because Billie can be dominant, and she definitely gives off that vibe. However something you had quickly figured out was- the hornier she gets the more submissive she becomes.

Now you can’t unsee it.

Billie would tease and flirt shamelessly on an average day, she’s just blunt like that, but as soon as you made any move back, you could practically see her resolve crumbling.

Whenever she tried to be dominant, she gave up after a mere 10 minutes max. Because frankly she would much rather lay back and get her shit rocked.

“Yes, you can, keep going.” You encourage her as your hand rubs her ass.

“More” you hear her breathe out softly. She needs it. She’s so close. Once again on the edge waiting, anything to be pushed over.

Your eyes trail to her back, the way she arches it and works herself back on the strap even tho she is sensitive.

Your eyes rake over her back tattoo. The tattoo spans across her spine. Just chaotic scribbles spanning from the nape of her neck to her tailbone.

The seemingly random scribbles and lines don’t make sense to you, but they make perfect sense to Billie. That doesn’t matter tho, because it’s hot anyway.

“You got this Bils” you encourage as you speed up just slightly to push her over to the edge you knew she was on. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

Your hand snakes between your bodies to rub fast and tight circles on her clit. Billie lets out a strangled moan and she’s done for.

You slow down to help Billie ride out her high. When she’s calmed down, you gently pull out. Billie lets herself collapse on the bed.

“Billie” you hum sitting down next to her. She lets out a tired hum in response. “You did so well” you chuckle lightly while leaning down to press a soft kiss on her head.

Billie turns to her side, her eyes half lidded but her gaze sharp as she looks up at you. “Thank you” she presses her lips into an amused smile.

She is sore, she feels like death. She just took Orgasm after orgasm, but she loved it. Because no matter how much Billie denies it, she is a bottom at heart. That is like, her default setting or something.

★ ★

@ y/n

Billie eilish is a bottom

@ BillieEilish replied to @ y/n

You wish ���💀

@ user69 replied to y/n

I can’t picture that 🤨

@ user97 replied to y/n

There she goes lying again

@ user144 replied to y/n

Too much information 😭

★ ★

Billie is on an interview with a nice woman in her mid-20s. This is a casual interview, the kind of interview that doesn’t feel like an interview, more like old friends catching up.

“So are you a bottom?” She asks letting out a small chuckle.

Billie comically lets her jaw drop. She huffs trying not to laugh out loud. “No” she shakes her head as if that idea was ridiculous.

“You know y/n is always out there, on Twitter, saying you are?” She chuckles, looking at Billie amused.

“Oh I’m aware.”

MASTERLIST

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

(A/n: since there isn’t enough sub!billie. I mean come on the woman is litterally 5’3)

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life , @h3arts4harry , @whosthislyssbitch , @jamiesturniolo , @sturniololover-09 , @zayyluvz , @sturnzsblog , @jetaimevous , @imwetforyourmom , @yoongslvr69 , @ilovethesturnstriplets , @obsessionsarenotfortheweak , @mininishiriki , @bigbootyjudyyyy

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Sketchbook - Chris Sturniolo

Requested by @pineapplealpaca Pairings - bsf!Chris x bsf!Reader Warnings - Just some fluff 🥰 and strong language! W/c - 2043 Summary - You and Chris meet freshman year of high school. With the talent of drawing, he quickly becomes your muse. After winning an award senior year, he finally finds out what you've been hiding from him this whole time. A/n - Thanks for requesting! 💚 This is my first Chris piece, hope you guys like it!! Should be edited so let me know if you see any typos! All interactions are appreciated ❤️ Dividers and photos are not mine; all credit due to original owners. My requests are always open! Check out my masterlist for my recent pieces! Tags - @lvrsturniolo (sorry I forgot 😭 thank you for already liking!! If anyone else wants to be on my tag list, just let me know ❤️) Current Matt series - City of Love. Part two.

Freshman Year

You sit on the bleachers, letting your pencil scribble across your sketchpad. Spending most of your time here, waiting on your older brother to get done with football practice. You were always an artistic soul, so drawing and painting was something you held close to your heart, along with the boy you had been crushing on since seventh grade - Chris Sturniolo. 

Life was so much easier with him in it. He came around often, being one of your brother's best friends, but you also formed a bond with him since the two of you were the same age. Over time the friendly banter turned into flirty banter, and you found yourself swooning over him at every given chance. Sketching portraits of him in your sketchbook, which might as well be your secret diary. 

You watched as he danced around the football field, doing what he loved most. After practice is finished, he makes his way over to you. Chugging the contents of his water bottle before trying to sneak a peek at your sketchbook, “whatcha’ drawing there, Y/l/n?”

A blush immediately creeps to your face, and your clutch your sketchbook to your chest, “uh- nothing! Just random stuff, why?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “just wondering, that’s all.”

Chris decided to leave it alone, but he knew he was lying when he said it didn’t spark his curiosity.

Sophomore Year

“C’mon let me see it,” your best friend, Chris, calls from the other side of your bedroom door. When you realized he had been snooping through your room, finding your hidden sketchbook in the process, you flipped shit on him. Snatching your sketchbook, your lifeline, and kicking him out. You run over to your closet, hiding it under a pile of junk you desperately needed to clean up. 

After successfully hiding your secret diary of a sketchbook, you rush over to the door that Chris was still knocking on, slinging it open. He stares at you, pushing you aside, and barging in your room. “It’s never that serious. Let me see that damn book,” he’s a bit agitated you’d keep it from him. There was no secret in your friendship with Chis, so hiding something this big was gut wrenching to him. He felt betrayed. He knew you didn’t want him to see it and that’s what made him want to even more. He had it a mission from that point on.

He needed to see what was in that damn book.

Junior Year

You let out an exaggerated sighed, clenching your sketchbook to your chest. Chris had you pinned on the couch in a battle over your precious sketchbook. Every time he saw it, he dove for it, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything other than Chris - the sketchbook bandit. 

“Chris, please,” practically begging as he stared you down. A smug smirk spread across his lips which were inches from yours. You didn't know what possessed him to go after your sketchbook every time he saw it, but he did. He would catch glimpses over your shoulder, making him more curious than ever. He knew you were drawing a portrait of somebody, but he didn’t know exactly who it was. Especially since you’d slam your book shut and hide it any time your senses told you he was near, his cologne being a dead give away.

“What’s the big deal, Y/n/n?” his tone was laced with playfulness. Knowing Chris too well, you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to rip the sketchbook from your grip. Being around him so much meant you were accustomed to his bullshit. Chris was a big goofball and the two of you got along great, aside from his never ending need to look in your book. He was determined to figure it out, and every time he failed, it ended in an argument. He could get anything he wanted from you, but you would never budge when it came to the sketchbook. 

At first, Chris thought you were afraid to show him your drawings, but when he begged to see one, making you rip a random drawing out and shove it towards him, he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. He just knew there was something, someone, in that book you didn’t want him to see.

Senior Year

The day was finally here - the art show. Your art teacher entered one of your paintings, and if you were honest, you weren’t completely okay with it. Only reason being, the portrait she entered was of your best friend, Chris. He had become your muse over the years. You were around him the most, so his face became easy to draw for you. The way his jawline curved when he turned his head to the side. The shape of his eyes and nose being more symmetrical than anyone you had ever drawn before. You couldn’t help it - when you looked at him, your pencil flew across the paper like magic. 

Chris was one of the most important people in your life. Even though you and Chris were just friends, you couldn’t help but get butterflies every time he looked at you, and that had been a feeling he gave you since the first day you met. You never knew if Chris felt the same way, and you weren’t the type to be straightforward, so you never brought it up. Chris was the complete opposite, being a little too blunt at times. It worried you if he didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t know how to let you down easily. This became one of your biggest fears over the years of knowing him, and one of the main reasons you kept it a secret. You were just grateful he was in your life on a day to day basis, crush or not. 

Luckily, Chris had a football game and couldn’t come to the event you were being awarded for. They had already announced the winners online last week, three of them - two other entries from different schools, and yourself. The only thing you had to do was get through your award winning speech and collect your certificate. Chris being disappointed he couldn’t call off the football game, you being upset you couldn’t attend his game. It was a coincidence in the worst way, but the two of you made plan to make up for it later in the week. In a way you were glad you didn’t have to confess to Chris the secret you had been hiding since freshman year. Knowing Chris, never thinking things through thoroughly before letting his words slip, you figured he’d think your portraits of him were weird. In a way, they were, you had been creepily letting your hand scribble across paper, drawing your best friend. 

Even worse, hiding it from him. For years. Maybe him not being here tonight wasn’t such a bad thing.

You bite your lip, and your gut churns as the host calls your name, “and for the second winner of tonight, Y/n Y/l/n, from Somerville High School!” 

You walk on stage, approaching the podium, and give the audience a big smile. This was one of the biggest achievements of your life, the feeling was euphoric for you. Letting your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your parents and brother. You notice Chris sitting next to your brother, your eyes widen, meeting his gaze, and you spin around to look at your winning portrait - a portrait of him. 

Chris stares at you with an unreadable expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t help wondering how he felt about discovering the secret you had been keeping from him the last four years. Was he mad? Did he even realize it was him? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take a step forwards and clear your throat, “I’d like to thank everyone who came out tonight, everyone who donated, and everyone who voted for my art piece. It means the world to me, standing in front of all of you today. I want to thank my family for supporting my dreams, and being here tonight,” you ramble on. Your stage fright disappears for a moment when your eyes land on Chris. A smile stretches across his face and he raises his eyebrows, like he’s telling you to continue. “And of course, I’d like to thank my best friend for being my muse,” your tone was laced with nervousness and passion all at the same time. Chris had inspired you without even knowing it. 

After you wrap up your speech, you enter the common room, chatting amongst the other winners. Various strangers of the art community approached you, congratulating you on your big win, and praising your masterpiece. You knew at the end of the night, you’d have to talk to Chris, and the anticipation boiled in your gut because of it. You didn’t know what you were going to say or how you were going to approach the situation, but you knew it had to be done. You just hoped it didn’t ruin your friendship in the process. 

“Pretty big secret, huh?” a voice from behind you snapps you out of your trance. Immediately recognizing that it’s Chris, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of his words. “I can see why you didn’t want me to know,” he continues, this time his voice is closer than before. You don’t say anything because, honestly, what the fuck do you say? 

An awkward smile pulls at your lips as you avoid eye contact with him, “I can’t believe you’ve been drawing me like one of your little french girls this whole time,” he playfully scoffs. His joke breaks the awkward tension being held between you two, making you let out a giggle. 

“Shut up,” you groan while running a hand through your hair. 

“Why?” Chris had always been one to tease you. Especially when it comes to your sketchbook so now that he knows what you had been drawing this whole time, he’s loving the hell out of it. 

“It’s not funny, Chris,” you groan, looking away as your face heats up a dark shade of red. He always had that effect on you, but it was even worse now.

“No, I mean why me?” he asks, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find the real answer. He already knows you won’t be completely honest with him, not when it comes to your drawings. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble under your breath, eyes fixated on your shoes. 

Chris reaches out to take your hand in his. The sudden contact makes you look at him, “you can tell me, Y/n.” 

Shaking your head, “I just think you have good bone structure,” you come up with the first lie you can think of, pulling your hand away, and walking to your portrait of him. You point to it, “your face is very symmetrical. It’s easy to draw!”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. His face was easy to draw, but that was probably because you had drawn him so many times. It was familiar to you. It inspired you.

You felt bad about telling him a halfass truth, but your intuition told you his reaction wouldn’t be good, so you hid it the best you could. You watch as Chris’s eyes brows knit together, his lips forming a straight line. He stares at you for a second, keeping the hard expression etched on his face.

As soon as you think you’re out of the water, he does the unthinkable - reaching a hand out to your wrist, pulling you to him, and smashing his lips into yours. The unexpected kiss makes you freeze for a split second while his lips move against yours. Chris brings a hand up to your face, almost like he’s telling you to accept it. You do exactly what he wants, moving your lips against his, letting him take the lead because you were, obviously, a nervous wreck. 

The shock is still taking a toll on your mind, and body, as Chris pulls away. He looks at you with that same unreadable look, “you’re a bad fucking liar, Y/n.” 

[wing-ed-thing]

Late Night Study Session (Trafalgar Law x Reader)

Synopsis: You've been studying day and night all week. You can't help but goof off a little.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, College AU, Suggestive Language

Notes: I didn't think it'd be here but it's here

“Are you an appendix? Because I have a gut feeling I should take you out.”

”Jesus Christ.”

You thought you just about broke him, your hysterical laugh turning into a wheeze as Law buried his face in his hands. You sat in the study room together. Just about the size of a large closet, the walls of the room were covered in whiteboards. A table, now littered with your laptops and hand-written papers, sat in the center with a large, fancy power strip. 

Law’s coffee sat amongst the empty take-out containers. The caffeinated drinks you had imbibed only contributed to the chaotic table. A warm light glowed overhead, glaring at Law’s scribbles on the whiteboard walls. It glowed a bit brighter than the light panels on the ceiling outside, the motion-activated sensors having dimmed when the new, expensive science building vacated long ago. 

You and Law had your last final together, which unfortunately fell on the last day of finals before move-out. A more advanced anatomy class, your test would encompass all the material you had covered since week one. Of course, this didn’t include the online modules that weren’t covered in class but would also be on the test. Even more, unfortunately, your final exam would make up forty percent of your overall grade. 

Quizzes, notes, and study guides from previous tests sat in a haphazard order across the table, over your empty seats, and pinned to the whiteboards like a detective’s evidence board. Pen ink smudged across the crinkled pages, and a patch of eraser dust lived on the table no matter how many times you tried to brush it away.

You were sure you were the only ones occupying a study room at the hour it was. You had practically been living out of it for the past week in preparation for finals. 

“Are you a heart surgeon? Because I get tachycardia whenever I see you.”

”It’s probably that abomination you’ve been sipping on all night.” Law gestured to one in your small army of drinks. You conjured up a concoction that contained just too much caffeine and sugar. “That stuff will kill you someday.” 

“If it gets me a passing grade, I’ll take ten,” you sighed, perusing a stapled packet of printed questions. You stopped at a page in the middle of the thick collection, taking a moment to think. “You can fill my… caudate nucleus with dopamine anytime.” 

You grinned, looking up at Law, whose already hooded gaze appeared even more narrow. His hand ran across his face, massaging the skin around his eyes. 

“You’ve officially lost it.”

”I lost it a few hours ago; let’s be real.” 

Law paid you little mind, shuffling around his notes before rearranging them in reverse order. For as rapidly as his eyes glanced over them, you knew Law was at his limit. There were only so many times you could look at the same collection of letters scrambled together before your brain fried, and frankly, you and Law had likely overstayed your time in the study room trying to push yourselves. 

You just weren’t afraid to know when it was time to give up.

”Are you a femur? Because you’re… you’re the largest bone in the human body.”

”That one doesn’t even make sense,” Law mumbled, still not entirely focusing on his notes despite his unmoving gaze. “The brachial plexus is formed by the anterior rami of the spinal nerves C5 to T1,” Law recited, a bit of forced certainty laced in his voice. 

“Yeah,” you hummed, playing with a pen and an empty coffee cup. 

“And the median nerve innervates the flexor muscles and the thenar muscles in the hand,” Law spoke definitively, crossing off a point of your massive study guide.

”And?”

Law glanced up at you.

”What do you mean ‘and’?” 

“Forearm. It’s mostly the median nerve you’re gonna lose points if you don’t also mention—”

“Ulnar. Fuck.”

Law threw his packet on the table. He hadn’t been this sloppy when you started that afternoon. But since you took a break to eat dinner— you were sure dinners with you in the study room were the only full meals Law had since the finals crunch began— studying had been futile. 

You had about eighty percent of the material sort of under your belt, but even that was shaky, considering the doomed format of your exams. No one in your class (or any of the other sections) received a passing grade during the midterm, and you were more than sure that even the study guide was a rough basis for what would actually be on the exam. 

“Maybe it’s about time we’ve turned in for the night,” you said quietly. 

Law had thrown his head back as he slumped over the table. A hand covered his eyes. His chest heaved a deep breath. 

The final was a lot of material, almost an impossible amount. You were on your own when it came to studying— the study guide (if you could even call it that)— was a miracle in and of itself. 

You knew that no matter how much you studied, you were bound to come across some curveball question about some obscure minutia you read about once. But Law, on the other hand, Mr. 52/100 on the midterm himself, was as stressed as ever. It didn’t matter that 52 was the highest score across all three sections; he was absolutely beside himself.

“Maybe,” he affirmed. Law would never tell you outright if you were right, even as he began to gather his things. 

You also began gathering your things, discarding your trash in the can, and sweeping your written notes unceremoniously back into plopped binders in your backpack. You finished moments before Law and waited by the door.

The bags under his eyes were more severe than usual, and he carried himself like his body was heavy. Law slouched a bit under the weight of his backpack but ultimately joined you at the door, grabbing it from your grasp to head out together.

You weren’t entirely sure why Law insisted on your study sessions to begin with. As serious and studious as he was, you were sure he had some rigorous study strategy he’d want to do alone. But ultimately, Law insisted that you study together and hardly gave you a choice in the matter. Given how much he talked to himself, you assumed he just wanted a warm body to bounce things off of. 

“Are you an ulnar nerve? Because you’ve got me feeling all the right sensations in my hands and my heart.” You placed your hands over the left side of your chest as you made your way out of the building. 

As you anticipated, the halls were quiet, and your voice bounced off the tiles. The motion-activated lights took a moment to flicker as the two of you passed. The sky outside the windows you walked by was pitch black, and the paths were illuminated only by the campus street lights. 

Law shook his head as the most subtle snort of amusement left his nose. His mouth scrunched together to contain his subtle laugh, but the motion was just enough to brighten his demeanor. The energy around you rose like a breath of fresh air had just wafted through. 

“You’re terrible at those,” Law said, holding the door for you as you stepped outside. 

The night air was cool when you left the building, being just chilly enough to prickle your skin. The streetlights lit up a fair amount of campus, illuminating your path back to the dorms. The door to the science building shut behind you, officially locking you out of the building. 

“Like you could do any better!” you laughed, clutching your backpack straps as you stepped out in front of Law. You pivoted on your heel, only to notice he hadn’t moved. You met his dark eyes with a crinkle of your forehead. 

Your face fell in confusion, which only mounted as Law took two wide strides to close the gap between you. Without warning, his hand found the underside of your face, cupping it firmly to tilt toward his. His other hand was shoved in the pocket of his coat. Your breath hitched as he leaned in.

“Wanna exchange genetic material?”

“Law!” you gasped, nearly shrieking his name in surprise, as your first instinct was to roughly shove him away as heat rose under your skin. You stumbled a few steps down the path, trying desperately to hide the embarrassing expression that graced your face. And when you did turn back to look at him— in sheer astonishment— Law was proudly wearing a pursed-lipped smirk.

“You’re the one who challenged me,” Law hummed with an amused bounce of his brows. He followed as you began in the direction of the dorms. 

“I’d hardly call that an anatomy-themed pickup line!” you exclaimed, your voice a pitch higher than usual. Law reached for your sleeve, a shine in his eyes as he slowed your pace. You kept backing up down the path, playfully tugging him along. Law rolled his eyes.

“Is too. You’re just embarrassed that I made you all flustered—”

“You’re just embarrassed that I trounce you at anatomy-themed pickup lines!”

You hardly finished your sentence before Law used the grip on your hand to his advantage, twirling you around into his arms, backpack and all. The movement felt bulky and heavy to you, but Law kept control over your movements, once again trapping you in proximity.

You lost your voice in your throat as you stared into his dark irises. They appeared even darker in the dim lighting, like the glinting gaze of a leopard as nocturnal bugs chirped around you. He raised a brow, his face swiveling cockily as he delivered his line.

“You wanna learn some real anatomy?” 

“Get outta here!” 

You pressed your palm to his forehead, playfully shoving his head back as Law relinquished you as you covered your hand with your face. Law grabbed your sleeve again, moving in front of you to tug you back to the dorms. 

Maybe he won that round after all, but you’d never tell him that. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

"I was pretty sure you'd sleep in and forget to meet me this morning" “Wouldn't have forgotten if I was sleeping with you" “But look at this.. Jesus.. look at this outfit" vibes

[admiringlove]

tear-stained cheek. holy shit this is so long overdue i'm so sorry 😭. anyway here is the masterlist.

it's funny, isn’t it? how someone can walk into your life—unexpected, almost like a quiet storm—and leave behind a trail of emotions you'd never even known could exist. the kind that makes your heart race in the most unsteady rhythm, like the fluttering pulse of a schoolchild who has just learned the thrill of something new.

you remember it, don’t you? the first time you saw him—alhaitham. his presence etched so clearly in your memory, as if it were a moment suspended in time. his blue-green eyes, those striking, captivating hues, flicking around the towering bookshelves, searching with a sense of urgency that could be mistaken for desperation. ruby pupils narrowing slightly, scanning the titles of books that were clearly not in his jurisdiction, buried deep in the wrong section of the akademiya's library.

it was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now. you were younger then, more naive. there was something so endearing about watching him from across the long corridor of dusty tomes. you could practically feel the tension radiating off him—his movements quick, sharp, trying to sort through a pile of parchments and textbooks. he was on the edge, overwhelmed by deadlines, his anxiety painting him in broad strokes. you could see it in the way his eyes darted back and forth, the slight hitch in his breath. you could’ve sworn his palms were clammy, his mind whirring with a thousand thoughts at once.

and then, just as your gaze lingered on him, his eyes met yours. for the briefest of moments, you could almost hear the shift—the silent flicker of recognition in his gaze. and just like that, the panic was gone. he gave a small, practiced smile, masking the chaos that had been there seconds before.

you chuckled quietly to yourself and took a slow stride toward him, deliberately setting your books down next to his with a soft thud. without saying a word, you sat down, as though you hadn’t just seen him nervously look for books, possibly in the wrong section—you were in the vahumana section, after all. and he, being a haravatat student, shouldn't really be in here. but your eyes couldn’t help but wander to his parchment, curiosity getting the best of you.

"that book is in the restricted section," you said, voice calm yet amused, pointing to one of the titles he had jotted down with such determination. "you're not allowed to read it without approval from a professor, and probably an inspector from the akademiya too. i know, because it involves my specialty. aetiology."

he blinked, just for a second, and then the smallest laugh escaped him. a soft, self-deprecating scoff. "i don’t know how i missed that. thank you."

that’s how your friendship began—small moments stitched together, each one quietly meaningful. your shared hours were steeped in academic conversations, unraveling dense research papers, and the whispered rhythm of scribbling as you wrote your thesis side-by-side in the library. sometimes, his sharp-tongued, golden-haired friend, kaveh, would join the two of you. and while alhaitham never seemed to notice the glances you stole, kaveh always did. he was like that—keen-eyed, always knowing, always watching.

one night, walking home under a blanket of stars with only kaveh for company, he spoke. his voice was quieter than usual, softened by the weight of what he was about to say. “you do realize he won’t notice unless you tell him, right? he’s not wired to pick up on things like that. not unless they’re spelled out for him.”

you let out a small laugh, more a puff of air than anything, and lowered your gaze to the pavement. “yeah,” you murmured, lips curving into a wistful smile. “i’ve figured that out by now. but maybe that’s part of what makes him... him. the way he doesn’t see how much i love—”

“love?” kaveh interrupted, his voice laced with disbelief, though not unkind.

“yeah,” you whispered, the word carried away like a secret on the night breeze. “unfortunately, yeah.”

you were always like that—quick to attach, even quicker to fall. you gave your heart away with the same ease you handed over your trust. quick to idolize, to elevate someone to a pedestal so high, you’d forget they were human. and then, you'd fall to your knees, treating love like a religion, a belief you held with a kind of desperate devotion. you looked at him as though he was the creator of the universe itself, as if he held the stars in his hands and had the power to shape the world with his touch.

one night, after graduation, you found yourself standing in his kitchen. the soft hum of the kettle broke the silence, and you watched him prepare tea with the careful precision only he seemed capable of. it was as if he could brew the entire universe into that simple cup. leaning against the doorway, you let the words slip from your mouth, barely planned, as if they had always been waiting there to be spoken. “you know, i think i’m falling a little, over here.”

his eyes didn't leave the kettle, and his response was quick, practical, a little detached. “you’re standing perfectly well,” he said, and you laughed softly. for all his brilliance, his understanding of emotions seemed quite lackluster. “i don’t see you falling.”

but you weren’t looking for his logic. you needed him to see you. you waited for his gaze to meet yours, and when it finally did, you took a breath, letting the night around you settle into the space between you both. the air was thick, but you pushed through it. kaveh was right. he wouldn’t know unless you told him. so you did. "alhaitham," you started, your voice barely a whisper, a tremble of something deeper. "i'm falling in love with you. actually, i’ve been in love with you for quite some time. before graduation, really."

he blinked, as though the words you had just spilled had left him tangled in a sea of confusion, and in that moment, your breath hitched in your throat, a quiet panic curling in your chest. you stumbled over your own words, quickly adding, "it's okay. don't say anything—"

but he cut you off, his voice steady despite the tension hanging thick between you two. "i did not say i didn't feel anything for you."

a relief so soft it was almost imperceptible washed over you, but you still couldn’t stop the trembling in your hands as you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his with a closeness that felt like an unspoken promise. "you didn’t say you felt anything at all, either," you murmured, and then, almost like an afterthought, "and i’m saying... that it’s okay."

his sigh was a quiet thing, weighed down by the gravity of the unspoken, and he turned his head, his gaze finally meeting yours. there was something raw in the way he looked at you, as though the words he was about to say had been locked away for far too long. “doesn’t mean i wouldn’t like to try. i am capable of feeling, you know.”

the corner of your mouth lifted into a tender smile, soft and knowing, and you reached forward, turning off the stove with a quiet click. “you trying to experiment on me?” you teased, though your heart was racing, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

he smiled back, a little smirk tugging at his lips, and there was something in the way he said it that made your heart flutter. “i’m simply saying that you aren’t just a friend to me. i’m capable of feeling intimacy. romance. i don’t know, whatever you call it.”

your heart pounded so loudly in your ears, it drowned out everything else—the quiet hum of the kitchen, the soft rustle of the night outside, even your own breath. you blinked, the weight of his words settling on you, and your lips parted, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel. but before you could collect yourself, he rolled his eyes, an almost playful gesture that caught you off guard. then, with a newfound confidence, he pulled you close, his hand landing on your waist, firm and sure.

your eyes widened, and you stumbled over your words, "alhaitham, what are you doing? kaveh's sleeping in the other room—"

he met your gaze, his ruby pupils dark and intense, and a knowing smile tugged at his lips. “you don’t seem to believe my words,” he said, his voice low and steady, “so i’m showing you through my actions. perhaps that would make this ‘experiment,’ as you call it, more believable?”

how could you have said no? in your eyes, he had always been a god, high upon a pedestal so lofty you could barely see the top. everything he asked of you, you had already given a thousand times over without question. you saw him dangle the moon in front of you, its glow irresistible, and in that moment, you forgot that it was the stars you truly craved.

here’s the thing about loving the way you did: when it wasn’t mirrored with the same intensity, the same fire, the same burning passion, everything unraveled. you learned quickly that love, if it wasn’t met with equal fervor, would twist and contort into something unrecognizable. so, in an attempt to keep everything from falling apart, you started sweeping the cracks under the rug, telling yourself it was fine. when his words cut too deep, when he hurt you without meaning to, you pretended it didn’t sting. as friends, it wouldn’t have mattered, but as lovers? it festered, a quiet poison settling into your bones, pricking at your spine like a disease that had no cure.

faith and love were blurry concepts in your mind, tangled in a way that made it impossible to see where one ended and the other began. in his, however, the line was sharp, clear, and separate. while you raised him up, placed him on a pedestal so high it nearly touched the heavens, he never saw you as anything less than his equal. he treated you like a part of him; integral, a piece that completed the whole. but that’s where it faltered, you realized. you loved alhaitham as if he were a god, unreachable, perfect in his flaws, something to worship and adore from a distance. he, however, loved you like you were his reflection. just as flawed, just as human.

it was a cycle, you’d reckoned, one that started the moment you fell, and it was one you knew would lead to disaster from the very beginning. but in the quiet spaces between your words, there was something that still held you captive. something you couldn’t quite name, yet couldn’t escape.

“you cannot keep doing this,” he had said, his voice a sharp edge cutting through the stillness of the room. it was only hours ago, when everything still seemed normal, when the world hadn’t yet fallen into fragments. “stop bringing up the past and throwing it in my face when i least expect it. you can’t keep telling me to correct my past mistakes when there’s no way i can! tell me what i’m doing wrong as it happens, so i can fix it, instead of letting it go and dragging it up later when it’s too late for me to do anything about it!”

the words hit you like a slap, and the spoon in your hands clattered into the sink, a harsh, metallic sound that echoed in the air. you didn’t know what to say at first, only that everything in you had soured at the injustice of it. you looked at him, the weight of your anger and exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders, and you finally let it spill out, raw and untamed. “why can’t you understand what you’re doing wrong in the first place, before you do it?”

his eyes widened, cerulean irises reflecting a mix of frustration and confusion, his pupils dilated in a way that made you feel like you were miles away from each other. “how am i supposed to, if you don’t tell me?” he shouted, voice rising, desperate. “how can i know what’s hurting you and what’s not, if you don’t tell me?”

"i should’ve known this wouldn’t go anywhere in the first place."

the words hit you both like a cold wind, sharp and cutting. your eyes widened in disbelief at what you'd said, and the silence that followed was thick, suffocating, a weight that hung heavy between you both. it was a silence that spoke louder than anything, filled with all the things you had left unsaid, the actions you both had avoided. he stood there, taken aback, and yet, you couldn’t find the words to explain the ache inside you—the quiet, persistent pain of knowing that no matter how hard you tried, he could never truly see you until it was already too late.

“then perhaps we should cut it off before it rots.”

his voice was final, a verdict you hadn’t been ready for. it was as if the last string of connection between you two had snapped, leaving nothing but the cold, empty space in its wake. you turned, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer, and stormed out. now, here you were, sitting on a bench at the edge of the city, watching the world move around you as the sky shifted, the sun dipping lower in a swirl of colors, the evening air cool against your skin.

tears had streamed down your face a while ago, uncontrolled, as if they had been waiting to escape for far too long. the city bustled on, oblivious to the storm inside you. the clouds above seemed to echo the disarray in your chest, moving with a restless energy, while you exhaled a shaky sigh. your hands trembled, rubbing together desperately, trying to still the chaos within you, but nothing could stop it. your gaze fell to your lap, empty, lost in the sea of your own thoughts.

perhaps it was your own doing, you thought, as the weight of it all pressed against your chest. perhaps you should’ve stayed away from the very beginning. perhaps you should’ve never let that curiosity get the best of you when you first saw him in the library, never set your books down next to his, never spoken those first words. maybe none of it would have mattered, and maybe you would’ve been spared the mess of it all. but now, the silence between you two was the loudest thing you had ever known.

can you tell i'm channeling myself and how i feel into the reader

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 17

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: and were back. were so back after getting this chapter deleted. trigger warning for this chapter as it contains blood, car accidents.

About You Series

2014, Circuit de Monaco

From this point of view, one could overlook Monaco as a whole. There was the sea that is fleeted with yachts, specifically docked there to watch the Grand Prix this weekend. Then, the clustered hills filled with trees and apartments, the composite of it can be eye-catching or an eyesore in Y/N’s opinion. And of course, she simply can’t miss how the balcony has the perfect view of the start of the Monaco Grand Prix. She can hear and see the Formula 2 cars dash around in their practice sessions.

“What do you think?” Sebastian walked in with a smile.

“This is just gorgeous. I mean I thought that I have seen amazing Monaco apartments when McLaren or when Red Bull booked us but this…”

Y/N lets out a loud ‘woah’ to conclude her statement.

It was no wonder that this apartment seems empty and unoccupied. If Y/N has to guess then the price for this place is skyrocketing. This was a dream location for anyone who wanted to stay in Monaco.

“So why did you call me here?” Y/N asked. The Red Bull driver has texted the location and she is still confused to Seb’s interest in this place. It was gorgeous but she knew how Sebastian explained several times that he was not one for the Monaco lifestyle.

“I bought it-”

She was mildly surprised with that. Only mildly because Red Bull has clearly lined up Sebastian’s pockets well especially after winning continuously for several years. Even today, Y/N pretty sure that despite the lack of win streak, Sebastian is still getting paid generously.

“-and I want you to have keys for it”

“I must have misheard that Sebastian” Y/N stated.

A key was laid out in her palm. It has a keychain of the checkered flag with an imprint of Y/N’s name as well as the date today. It contained two keys which has been poorly labelled with Sebastian’s handwriting on a plaster tape. One was scribbled as Mon, an acronym for Monaco while the other has Mar.

Maybe there was too much car fumes or petrol in Sebastian’s head which is why he is going crazy for giving Y/N this apartment so she tries to hand back the key. He just shakes his head in disagreement.

“This place is yours as much as its mine” Sebastian insisted “I knew you love Monaco and I want you to have a place to go whenever you feel like staying here.”

It wouldn’t be that bad to have a place to go to here in Monaco. However, there was this certain guilt that this was too much and she doesn’t think that she deserves this. It was something that Sebastian caught on, he could read her so well.

“I thought of you that’s why I bought it. You love the sea, you love the races, and bonus points because you have Nico and Lewis as neighbours”

The last statement elicited a laugh from the two of them. Sebastian wanted to convince her because this was a literal vision in his head that he wanted a safe space for Y/N to go home to. England and Australia may be her home town but it doesn’t give her the privacy that she needs. Monaco, on the other hand, is quieter and more peaceful despite the extravagance.

“Okay but I’m still going to text you when I’m going to go here”Y/N settled.

“Perfect”

“Now what is Mar?” Y/N’s curiosity got the best of her “And please tell me that its not a key to a boat in the Marina”

“Mar is Maranello”Sebastian clarifies.

It was time to move to the second surprise that he has for Y/N. He had been so excited to tell her about this but he had to keep it down until everything was settled and signed. Last week, he signed the contract.

The girl was confused. It didn’t make any sense to why Sebastian would be in Maranello when the Red Bull headquarters is in Brackley. Only Ferrari resides in Maranello, why would Sebastian be there?

“Sebastian Vettel, you are Ferrari’s new driver?”

There were talks that Ferrari would change their driver lineup but she haven’t heard Sebastian’s name being thrown in the hat. She couldn’t contain the excitement that she was feeling and leaned into hug Sebastian. Driving for Ferrari is a milestone for Sebastian especially when he used to idolize Michael when he drove for the red team.

“When are you announcing this? Who else knows?” Y/N quizzes.

“No one yet”Sebastian grins “I wanted you to be the first one out of the signing team to know”

This was an exciting news and hopefully one of the first of the many happy memories shared in this Monaco apartment. Things are finally turning for the better.

2014, Red Bull Ring

In a very media-centered event, it surprises a lot of people that there are places in the Grand Prix where any forms of press and media is not allowed. Of course, this varies depending on whose home turf they are racing on. Mercedes and McLaren definitely have bigger private spaces in Silverstone, just like how Red Bull have their own private lounge reserved for their private guest.

Jenson sticks out like a sore thumb with his McLaren merchandise. He seems to stick out even more with the way that he stands there and just gazing at the view in front of him. Sebastian, Y/N, and the little baby Margarette—if Jenson didn’t know any better then he would have guessed that they are an actual family. He was lucky that the media weren’t there to catch his reactions because they could catch Jenson spilling the truth about his feelings.

“Jenson is that you?” a voice broke Jenson out of his reverie. His head turned to see Hanna with a plate of fries.

“Hello Hanna, nice to see you around”Jenson politely greeted.

He honestly couldn’t fathom why Sebastian has invited her over. He gets it if Sebastian wanted to see the kid but to add this woman that has been the cause of pain of Y/N, Jenson could not help but scoff. His emotions does not seem to be hidden well as Hanna shifted nervously.

“I know you are probably thinking that I don’t deserve to be here and I think that too”Hanna explained “But Y/N invited me to take Marga because Seb is missing her”

“Y/N?”

The woman chuckles, “Yeah, I can’t believe it as well. She has been nothing but nice to me. I know that she have every right to hate me but she has been a supporting pillar and someone really wonderful to Marga”

They glanced back to Y/N, who was playing with the baby. She was gently rocking the baby and it giggles as it tries to reach her hair. Sebastian, on the other hand, was sat next to her with a loving gaze on the two of them.

Jenson couldn’t feel but sigh and ask if it was him in Sebastian’s place then would Y/N be as happy as that?

There were no need for words but Hanna have realized from the small interactions how Jenson is deeply inlove with Y/N. It felt like a déjà vu because that was the way she used to look at Sebastian. Her actions to force things to happen has ruined a lot of things for Sebastian and she was glad that things are still repairable.

“I know that look” Hanna pointed out “You love her”

It was something that Jenson cannot rebut. He had always thought that he was good at hiding things especially with his flirty attitude and his chill self. This was the first time he was seen for what he feels.

“That obvious huh?” Jenson nervously replied.

He had tried his luck once upon a time and he ended up in the friendzone. He took the friendship if that is all that she could offer just so he could keep her in his orbit. There is a part of him that knows that no matter how many girls he meet, it was always Y/N who occupies his heart. Confessing is not an option given how complicated things are and how telling will only do more harm than good.

“We were in the same position a year ago” Hanna understands Jenson “All I could tell you that it is best to move on so it won’t hurt you anymore”

A year ago, Hanna would have not suggested that. She would have urged Jenson to confess so he can end up with Y/N and Sebastian could end up as her’s. The past few months have been a huge period of moving on for Hanna. Maybe it’s the birth of her child that allowed her to refocus the unreciprocated love to the child. She also understood how much Sebastian and Y/N means to each other, she wouldn’t do anything more to damage them.

“That’s easy to say but so hard to do”Jenson mutters.

Hanna’s hands patted Jenson’s shoulders. It was a comforting thought that someone gets how he is feeling and maybe Hanna can serve his inspiration that maybe he could move on from this unrequited love.

“Everything will be alright Jenson”

2014, Silverstone Grand Prix

Jenson Button and Assistant Webber involved in a freak accident.

Jenson Button was going home after a celebration of Lewis Hamilton’s win in the recent Silverstone Grand Prix when he and assistant, Y/N Webber collided with a ten wheeler truck. The driver of ten wheeler truck has been drunk and lost control of the car. It was of sheer miracle that Jenson was not driving the car during the time of the accident because he was at the backseat drunk and sleepy. Due to that Jenson is able walk away from the accident with just some bruises and ready for the next Grand Prix. Unfortunately, Y/N who is behind the steering wheel received more dangerous injuries. Suffering from a head trauma and crippling injuries, Y/N was rushed to the hospital where she is placed in Intensive Care Unit.

The bright light and the white aesthetics of the hospital was a stark contrast to the blood that stained Jenson’s hands. His hands were shaking knowing that this blood was not his but from the girl who is currently fighting for her life. Tears were stinging his already bloodshot eyes as he watched the clock tick painfully slow.

Its already been a hour since Y/N was rushed inside. The doors of the operating room remained close and Jenson doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Scrambling footsteps screeched in Jenson’s hallway. He saw his fellow drivers and Mark. All of them equally frazzled with the worry and fear being the top ones to show.

“What happened?” Mark was quick to ask.

Honestly, Jenson was not much of a help. He was lying down and he just remembered how Y/N was reminding him that he has to get up early to apologize to a Ronnie in the morning. He was too dizzy after having too many tequilas and then a bright light followed by a loud crunch.

“Holy shit, is that your blood?”Lewis noticed “Man its all over you”

“It’s Y/N” Jenson muttered. He remembered how his hands and his clothes were stained when he tried to pull her out of the wreckage.

The reality of the whole situation sinks in. Mark, was supported by Nico and Lewis, as he falls down on his knees. Sebastian was pacing back and forth while Jules seems to be praying. They were all a mess as they await updates about the girl. As Formula 1 drivers, they should have been used to accidents and collisions because it was a risk that comes with their work. It hits a little different when it happens to someone who is not a driver and someone very dear to them.

It took another 40 minutes before a doctor appeared in front of them.

“How is my sister?” “Is she doing okay?” “What happened to her”

The flurry of questions was something that cannot be stopped. The doctor’s expression was not giving away anything if the operation turned out positive or negative.

“She is stable now” the Doctor explained “We stitched up the head wound and hopefully she will be awake in a few hours”

A sigh of relief erupted out of every single one of them. They were just so relieved that she survived the whole crash.

“But there is something that you must know about her..”

2014, Hockenheimring

“Seb, you have to focus” Y/N reminded him “This is your home race that we are talking about”

“I know but quali don’t start in about…” Sebastian knows he has 10 more minutes before it starts but he grins “20 minutes”

The grainy camera could showcase Y/N sitting on her bed. The balcony must have been open hence the sunlight gracing her face and shining light to the newfound hollowness in her face. Her busted lips and the stitches were a constant reminder of the tragedy that she survived.

With all those imperfections, Sebastian continues to stare at her lovingly across the screen. His thoughts remain the same that Y/N is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Sebastian, don’t make me call Christian”Y/N warned.

The German driver just raises his hand in surrender, “I’m just checking in you sunshine and I really miss you more than ever today”

It would have been really nice if she was here during his home race. Maybe he would have taken her for a drive to his parents’ house or they can get to explore some German countryside just like when they were younger.

“I’ll be there and recover soon”

“And I’ll be waiting. You take your time” Sebastian assures.

The door creaks open and Y/N could be seen turning sideways. She pans her camera to show Sebastian the visitor.

“Hey Mark!” Sebastian greeted.

Honestly, the retirement of Mark was a perfect timing. Sebastian couldn’t always take care of Y/N so Mark was placed in charge during race weekend. The Monaco apartment was big enough to have guests to stay over so Mark is currently camping at one of the guest room.

“Seb aren’t you supposed to be in your car right now?”Mark made a tsk tsk sound.

“I am but I wanted to talk to my best girl here” Sebastian reasoned out.

Y/N couldn’t hide the flush of red in her cheeks, “now you go and race! I love you!”

“I love you more sunshine”Sebastian replied

2014, Hungaroring

“That’s a terrible finish for Sebastian”

Mark’s comment from earlier has been ringing in her ears for the past few hours. Sebastian has started from P2 and ended up in P8 so Mark’s statement was not shocking. She has also seen the articles and the people in social media talking about Sebastian. Usually, people can blame the car or the strategy but today, Daniel won from P4. People are pointing fingers that Sebastian is past his prime.

She was fidgeting with her necklace again. She wonders if maybe her condition is a contributing factorin the recent poor performance of Sebastian.

Of course, Sebastian didn’t blame her for anything. He has always been supportive, kind, and lovely throughout this recovery journey. However, she feels like she is burdening Sebastian and distracting him from his true passion.

Speaking of the devil, the face of Sebastian shows up in her screen. Her hands hesitated to pick it up but she eventually pressed the green button.

“Hey! I have been so caught up with the meeting and I was only able to call now” Sebastian’s voice was cheery. If Y/N didn’t watch the race then she would have thought that he won with that smile on his face “Are you okay sunshine?”

“Yeah, tell me about your day”

Y/N is definitely lying but she no longer wanted to burden Sebastian. She continues to listen on with a forced smile on herself as she tries to fight the plaguing thoughts in her head.

2014, Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Seb: I know you dont like me much but we have to talk. Call me when you get this.

Mark: Hey mate. I wanted to talk to you about Y/N. Mark: Ring me up when you are available.

The notifications stared in front of Jenson for a good five minutes. It wasn't a difficult decision to ring up Mark because a) its about Y/N and b) Sebastian isn't someone he adores a lot. Although Jenson was hoping that Mark wouldn't pick up since its the late hours of the night.

"Jenson, its been a while"

Indeed it has been. Jenson can count how it had been almost 5 weeks since that accident. Heck,he could even count the hours and minutes that have passed if asked about. It was something on his mind 24/7 slowly eating him alive.

"Mark,how are you doing? How is she?"Jenson asked immediately.

"She is not doing well"Mark admits.

"But I thought everything is alright?"Jenson was confused.

He may or may not have been avoiding Y/N out of the eating guilt. However,he have heard from Nico that she was doing well. As far as he knows, she is staying with Mark in the apartment in Monaco.

"Her physical inabilities is taking a toll on her mental well-being"Mark explained "But I think she has been taking it too hard on herself."

Mark continued to talk about she has been pushing herself to the limits and wanted to expedite the whole process of getting back on her feet. He also mentioned how Y/N is clouded with guilt that she is a huge problem and a burden for everyone.

"But she isn't a problem or a burden"Jenson interjected.

"We know but she doesn't believe me" Mark sighs.

"What are we going to do about it?"

There was nothing that he wouldn't do for Y/N. Even if guilt was eating him up, he would have been an invisible figure being there for her. He would do whatever it takes just to bring back the old happy her.

"We are going to the next Grand Prix. Sebastian is making arrangements because he thinks maybe Y/N will feel better if she is surrounded by friends and the family she knows."

The Singapore Grand Prix was two weeks from now. Jenson immediately made a mental note for this one. Maybe he will busy himself with some media team bullshit or maybe he will have to arrive late for the free practice.

"I'm calling to let you know so you won't run away Jenson" Mark added "I know that you blame yourself for what happened but please, she misses you"

"You know me too well Mark"

"We're arranging dinner, promise you'll be there?" Mark continued to push.

"Anything for her"

2014, Marina Bay Street Circuit

When the news broke out about Y/N returning for Singapore, almost every driver arrived early to Singapore so they could attend the dinner arranged by Mark. Y/N was a beloved figure in the grid and even if she was not as close to everyone in a Nico, Lewis, Jules, or Jenson level—they all greatly miss her.

It was a good thing that Mark booked this restaurant for the night as people would have been really curious why the drivers gathered in one place.

Mark received a message from Sebastian that they were all there. He gently pushed the wheelchair to the elevator and texted him back that they will be there in a minute or two.

"Are you ready?" Mark wondered. "Its nice to get out of Monaco"

Y/N hummed in agreement. The glass elevator has a view of the whole Singapore nightlife. She could see the fireworks up in the sky to celebrate the upcoming weekend and the busy streets. It brings her a small smile that this was just like the old times.

The minute that the elevator opened, Jenson was standing there in front of them. Mark watched as Jenson immediately hugged Y/N and they were immediately crying.

Mark knew that if there was anyone who took this harder than Y/N then it was Jenson. He thinks he haven't seen Jenson interact or message after Y/N was pronounced safe from disaster. He knows how Jenson have blamed himself and thinks he should have been the one driving behind the wheel so this would not happen.

It was a joy to see them together again.

"I'm really sorry if I couldn't be with you a lot"Jenson continued to apologize.

"There is no need for that Jense"

"You might have needed me and I left you by yourself. I felt so guilty by the whole accident that I thought that its better to leave you alone"Jenson explained.

The hug just got tighter. There was no need for Jenson to explain himself because Y/N already understood. Many people forget that the two of them have been involved in the accident. Y/N's damage was physically present but Jenson's wound was something invisible to the naked eye.

"It's alright Jenson, were alright"Y/N assured.

It wss a good thing that the two met here rather than inside the restaurant. They wouldn't want the tears to get in the way of reconnecting and meeting with other friends.

"Let's get inside"Jenson wipes his tears "Everyone is waiting for you"

Before Jenson could open the door, Y/N shouted to wait.

"Mark,can you help me up?"Y/N asked.

Mark looked at her unsure. They have been through this several times in the Monaco apartment. Even if she tried to stand up,she normally can't walk because of the pain let alone stand for so long.

"Are you sure this is a good decision?"Mark was trying to find reason.

"I don't want them to see me in a wheelchair"Y/N admitted.

Mark gently helped Y/N up with Jenson assisting her as well. It was a team effort to keep her standing up but she is bearing most of its weight because of the excruciating pain that is hitting her.

The doors were gently pushed open and the drivers' attention turned to the newcomers of the restaurant. It made Sebastian shocked to see her standing there and trying her best to walk. He immediately went to assist her but he stops on his track.

"You stay there"Y/N instructed when Sebastian was three steps away "I'll do my best to get there"

It was quite painful for Y/N to take the first step and loosen her grip to her human crutches. Her teeth grinded each other as she tries to hide the pain away. She focused her attention to the hand of Sebastian reaching out for her.

"You can do it Y/N" Jules cheered on.

"Just careful steps"Sebastian encouraged.

The whole room seems to stand still with awaited breath as she takes another step towards Sebastian. It was like seeing a miracle for them and they felt speechless to see such feat. Some of them couldn't help but have tears in their eyes with how emotional this moment is.

"You've got this,one more"

Pain was shooting up but Y/N did her best to take another one. Her hands gripped Sebastian outreached hand before she could fall. Sebastian, gently held her close.

"You did it. You did it sunshine"Sebastian whispered.

The feeling of tears were welling up in her eyes. She doesm't know if this was because of the pain or maybe the longing that she felt for Sebastian. It didn't help when she looked at Sebastian and found his eyes tearing up as well.

There was a moment of comfort and peace that they both have been lacking the past few weeks. Everything was okay again now that they are back in each other's arms.

2014, Suzuka Circuit

Even if Y/N walked a few steps in Singapore,she was still advised to use the wheelchair. Her physical therapist have been trying to up her routines so she could walk again. For now she was stuck in a wheelchair and Sebastian don't mind pushing for her.

But today, Sebastian is quite busy so Jules have to sub for him.

"The media is going crazy with the news" Y/N observed. Today was the day that Sebastian was announced to replace Fernando Alonso and will start driving for Scuderia Ferrari. The media have been interviewing Sebastian as early as 8 in the morning and now its nearly lunchtime.

"I know, people say Sebastian may be the key to getting the championship back to Ferrari"Jules said.

"That puts a lot of pressure in Seb then"

"I'm sure he can handle it"Jules assured.

Jules pushed Y/N to the track. Their grid walks were something that Y/N have terribly missed. It was a good thing that its a bit cloudy so Jules wouldn't have to bring an umbrella for them.

"Speaking of Ferrari.."Jules opened up "I think I have to let you know that I may be replacing Kimi in 2016"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. She felt like she was in a deja vu moment when Sebastian first told her about the Ferrari contract.

"Ohmygod that sounds amazing Jules!"Y/N beamed.

Jules seems to be a little bit unsure of himself judging by the nervous smile that graced his face.

"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself but you know I'm already thinking about it. Would the people cheer for me when I announce that I signed to Ferrari"Jules glanced at the Tifosi crowd chanting Sebastian's name.

Y/N knows how sometimes driver can doubt their ability. She believed that they are one of the best drivers in the world because it isn't easy to be a Formula 1 driver. The skills,the reaction time, and even their quick thinking is an asset that not many people have. They often downplay themselves when they felt like they are performing poorly.

"You have got to be confident Jules. I'm sure the Tifosis would love to have you in their team"Y/N comforts "You just have a shitbox that can't compete right now but Ferrari would give you a beautiful machinery and I swear you will be up on the podium"

It was a beautiful picture in Jules' head. Any kid would have dreamed of driving for Ferrari but winning with Ferrari is a different kind of euphoria. He glanced at her and he hoped that he could see her cheering for him someday when he is at the top of the podium.

"Thank you little sister"Jules said "I'll make you proud someday"

"You already make me so proud Jules"

READ: Statement regarding Jules Bianchi crash.

[ahqkas]

if you taking request can u make sumn with mattheo and the reader is just like Rory Gilmore studying all the time and he prod of her or sumn and thank you AND IM LOVE YOUR WRITING

NOTES! fem!reader, i’ve never watched gilmore girls in my life so that’s just my interpretation of rory gilmore from what i’ve seen on tiktok 🥹

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE LIBRARY AT HOGWARTS HAD ALWAYS BEEN YOUR SAFE PLACE. the quiet rustle of parchment, the soft scratch of quills, and the muted footsteps of other students as they moved between aisles — these were the sounds that surrounded you as you pored over your notes, your quill gliding smoothly across the page.

you had always been studious, a trait that had earned you more than a few comparisons to the infamous ravenclaw stereotype, but you didn’t mind. knowledge was your passion, your escape, and you dove into your studies with the same enthusiasm that others reserved for quidditch or wizard chess. you enjoyed the challenge of a difficult spell, the satisfaction of mastering a complex potion, and the thrill of discovering a new piece of magical / muggle theory.

and mattheo noticed.

he had been watching you for weeks now, his dark eyes often drifting toward your usual spot in the library when he was supposed to be focusing on his own work. it had become a habit, really — one that he found both endearing and a little worrying. while others were out enjoying the spring weather, laughing with friends, or practicing on the quidditch pitch, you were here, nose buried in a book, fingers ink-stained from hours of scribbling notes.

it wasn’t that mattheo didn’t understand your drive. on the contrary, he admired it. he had seen the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood a difficult concept, the way you would smile to yourself after writing an essay you were particularly proud of. it was one of the things he loved about you — how your passion for learning was as fierce and unyielding as any fire. but he also worried about you, about how much you pushed yourself, how often you skipped meals and sacrificed your sleep or lost track of time because you were so absorbed in your studies.

today was no different. as he approached the library, he wasn’t surprised to see you sitting in your usual spot by the window, the late afternoon light casting a golden glow over your figure. you were hunched over a particularly thick textbook, your brow furrowed in concentration as you chewed absentmindedly on the end of your quill, a cozy sweater enveloping your focused figure.

mattheo leaned against a bookshelf for a moment, just watching you. there was something about the way you worked, the quiet determination that radiated from you, that filled him with an odd sense of pride. you were relentless in your pursuit of knowledge, always pushing yourself to be better, to know more. it was inspiring, really — how someone could be so dedicated, so passionate. and though he wasn’t the best with words, he wanted you to know how much he appreciated that about you.

pushing off the doorframe, mattheo made his way over to your table, the soft sound of his footsteps alerting you to his presence. you looked up, surprised, your quill pausing mid-sentence as you took in the sight of him standing there, hands in his pockets, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips.

“hey,” you greeted softly, setting your quill down as you stretched out your fingers that have been writing for hours now. “what brings you here?”

mattheo shrugged, his eyes flicking over the array of books spread out before you. “just wanted to see how you’re doing. you’ve been at it for hours.”

a sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you glanced at the library clock, realizing he was right. “i guess i lost track of time, sorry.”

“again,” the slytherin boy added, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. he pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “you know, it’s okay to take a break sometimes. the world won’t end if you don’t finish that chapter tonight. ”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair as you looked at him. “i know, but there’s just so much to do. exams are coming up, and i want to make sure i’m ready.”

mattheo reached out, taking one of your hands in his. his thumb brushed over the ink stains on your fingers, a small smile appearing on his lips. “you’re always ready. you’ve been studying harder than anyone else i know. but you don’t have to do it all at once, okay? you’re allowed to take care of yourself too.”

“who cares if i’m pretty if i fail my finals?”

“you’re so much more than that. and you’re not going to fail, love. but you need to listen to me.”

his words, though simple, hit you with a warmth that spread through your chest. it wasn’t that you didn’t know he cared — it was in the little things he did, the way he always brought you coffee when he knew you’d been up late, or the way he would sit with you in the library even if he had no work of his own, just to keep you company. but hearing it out loud, the way he expressed his concern for you, made your heart swell.

“okay,” glancing at the stack of book in front of you that still needed attention, you hesitated for a bit. but when you saw the expression on his face, you made up your mind. “let’s take a short brake.”

“that’s my clever girl.”

you let your boyfriend lead you out of the comfort of the school library, his slender fingers sneakily intertwining with yours to keep you close to him. the cool air hit your face the moment you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe again. the tension in your system began to slowly disappear as you leaned closer to mattheo’s side, his warmth enveloping you in a new kind of comfort.

[eluxcastar]

can we get more dadtore fics plz?🤭🤭🤍🤍

Dadtore and his raccoon child

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: dadtore gets his coat stolen and quite possibly has a mild existential crisis at the realisation he is a present and available father

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, reader’s backstory is ambiguous, it's finally acknowledged they don't talk but feel free to ignore that, sorta proofread (omg finally I edited something)

୨୧﹑words :: 1.9k

I went to publish this and realised I lost all my dividers because I'm on a new laptop so I'm gonna have to go get those back 😭😭

anyway baby has officially graduated to raccoon status because each day this child grows more feral and will continue to do so 🫵 I'm surprised I even managed to write this cause I've been calling so many grown men babygirl lately Idk what even makes one say that about König from Call of Duty but I do

Whether against your will or the result of some strange form of Stockholm Syndrome, you have somehow come to love the days spent with him. It scares him more than he'd like, knowing that your life rests in his hands, even more so that that bothers him, yet he has been unable to remain especially angry with you.

No matter what you do, what buttons you push, and how much you've forced him to rearrange his lab to practically babyproof it, his desire to consider you a pest dies. It has rapidly died since he realised you clung to him so tightly when you became ill, even if it turned out to be only a low-grade fever that you were free from in a day or two. Something about it made the growing bond he had noticed and his fondness for you skyrocket, and it all happened right under his nose while he was distracted with making you comfortable and keeping you company.

Dottore never thought he'd have a doorframe close to one of the shelves in his lab marred by the marker-made scribbles of a height tracker specifically to tell him when it's time to cram everything up another shelve, yet it's there. He sees it whenever he swivels his chair in that direction or when the segments poke at it, mildly intrigued by his interest.

He can't trust some of them yet — not with you — the ones he does trust are almost entirely uninterested in you because that keeps you safe. His segments can't gain anything from a child who only annoys them by trying to hug their leg until they shove you away. From there, you can sense that they don't want to play from the glares you get that send you scurrying back to whatever corner has the reject dolls Sandrone gave him to mock him for his soft spot, so they don't care.

Despite wishing you were little more than a lingering annoyance he could palm off to the first available parental figure, you trust him so implicitly, and he's falling victim to your charms each time you stand behind him, peeking over his shoulder to spy on him like you're so sneaky, even when he can clearly see you looming out of the corner of his eye. You show interest and want to be around him, to loiter despite knowing you will receive only acknowledgement as he talks to you.

Returning to the lab reveals that you seem to have stolen his coat again — at least, that's what he gleans from its migration from the back of his chair to the floor — though he does not particularly mind even as you drag it back to your little set of chairs set up in the corner for you to play with.

Whatever tables did to you, Dottore has yet to figure out how it made you want to shove the little table you have over there so violently all the time. In your defence, it is usually in the way, and maybe it did something to deserve it that has you holding a grudge, but it's irrelevant as you position your little chairs and drape his coat over the backs of them to make a roof for your hideout.

A child's cubby.

At some point, he noticed you took to childish things like that, even when you didn't do that before, almost like you became more…childish. It's welcome. You warm up to the safety of his care and the joy of goading him into entertaining you.

He used to bar the younger segments from making those forts as they'd put them everywhere and neglected to return the items they grabbed to do so. You are not exactly better, though you tend to use appropriate materials. It is preferable to their habits of senselessly trying to stack things on top of each other and then getting confused as to why they would all fall down when a chasm to crawl inside of does not magically appear in the absence of intentional planning.

There's a reason he's Il Dottore and not Il Ingegnere.

The stealing does not change, however.

Dottore approaches your cubby, intent on investigating this fort you've crafted with the help of his coat. He realises you're humming when he gets closer, as you have been a lot lately. You make more noises now. Not quite words, but noises, and that's more than enough for now. He'd like to hold a proper conversation with you at some point, but you won't even say your own name, let alone keep up a whole verbal conversation that doesn't require a game of charades.

"Just what are you doing?" he asks, and the moment he does, you've grabbed the overcoat from where you had balanced it and run off giggling.

You narrowly escape him, settling off by his chair where you had first obtained the coat — a fickle cat-and-mouse game that will inevitably end one of two ways — you seem intent on keeping that coat, however. He watches as you burrow amidst the thick fabric of the overcoat you mischievously stole from him, the furs tickling your cheeks and warming you up as it sits bunched around your tiny body in a heap of cloth. It engulfs you as you are, but you always like it.

What bothers him so much is that if you were any other child pulling these stunts and creating trouble, Dottore would have found some way to get rid of you by now — he could've given you to the Knave. He can't. He's tried. He tried so hard, even attempting to justify it with his own fondness by convincing himself it would be for your own good. He even talked to her about it at one point, and she almost stole you, thinking the worst, before she realised how spoiled you were by Dottore's standards.

Selfishly, he couldn't do it. He couldn't bear it, even when he told himself Arlecchino would take better care of you than he could ever.

So you're still here, still interrupting his vital work to play a mockery of hide-and-seek where you manage to be the worst yet most endearing hider he could possibly seek, burrowing yourself out of sight beneath his coat as your head disappears and you lay flat on your stomach. A pest. That's what you should be. He stalks toward you like you are a tiny pest hunted by an eager cat waiting to catch you, but stops just before you.

It is nowhere near Dottore's nature to loudly question what this stray pile of laundry is doing lying around, nor can he bring himself to try baby-talking you in that singsong voice people use for children, so he kneels in front of you instead, lowered to your eye level. You wouldn't particularly appreciate it if he did pick up that ear-grating habit anyway.

The overcoat writhes as if a creature stirs beneath it, and you poke your head out to greet him with a slowly forming cheeky grin that devolves into giggles as you realise you are caught. You duck back into the safety of his coat, burrowing amidst its comfort and returning to hiding.

He cannot possibly keep the amused huff he lets out from escaping at the sound of your giggling before shaking his head. "Are you going to come out?" he asks. Of course not. You are going to squirm under there until he pulls you out. "Insufferable little thing," he mutters half-heartedly. He's unable to find the will to be truly angry with you, though he never really was in the first place, merely relenting at your silence.

Dottore rests his other knee on the ground and steals his coat from your little hands. With it, you shortly follow as you are collected in his arms and perched on his lap as he sits back in his chair, leaving you poorly balanced yet able to shift yourself into a comfortable spot where you won't fall. Dottore wraps his coat snugly around you, just as you had done before, and lets you settle into place.

You're so small, pacified by his arms around you to reluctantly grant you the hug he knows you want. You like those. He realised that when all you wanted in your sickness-fuelled stupor was for him to cradle you in his arms and let you lean against him. Something about it makes you look so vulnerable. You need someone who can care for and protect you despite your ability to care for yourself; he is the woefully imperfect choice who should not want to take on that task but who may be uniquely suited to it because of that.

'Damaged' children who have had to adapt to the shortcomings of others do not benefit solely from perfection but can become suffocated by it. They need something that suits their unusual need for guidance without expectation of normalcy. He's living it now as his inexperience with this idea of a family forces him to confront imperfection — dismal humanity.

You will never be like a child raised in a perfect family, nor can you offer him complete dependence and vulnerability; he doesn't mind that. In exchange, he will never be your perfect father figure. He will cradle you with his imperfection and wish that this feeling makes you happy if nothing else.

You offer what you want, and he takes what is given because he wants it. Badly, he wants it, even if he is unwilling to admit the possibility of that being real.

He wants to stay like this, to keep picking you up, even when lifting your weight and gathering you in his arms grows harder each time. He wants to watch you nestle against him, mark your height on the doorframe every month, take care of you when you're sick, worry about someone other than himself, and make room for you in a place where there should be none. He wants to give you what you were almost robbed of, see you make friends and smile each day.

For now, he must start small, no more than sitting in front of what probably looks like jumbled garbage to you and resting his hand on the back of your head to pull you closer in a rare show of affection. Gentle. He is entirely unused to the idea of being gentle and protective of something that lives and breathes.

Dottore hates the very idea of your existence meaning something to him — a visceral reaction to the unfamiliar — but cannot resist the vulnerability of it all, the thought of loving someone who loves him back in a way he has yet to fathom, though he is not so presumptuous as to mindlessly believe you love him, even now. You would not be asked to point to your father and turn to him, but you don't have to. Something in that thought is exciting, a desperate grasp at unconditional love from something he cares for, even against his will, but this middle ground somewhere between babysitter and father is as comfortable as anything he wants will get.

[creamflix]

MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE DESI BOYS! — featuring gojo, nanami, sukuna, toji, choso, geto  content warnings: south asian & desi settings/culture/reference(s), certain non-english phrases or words have been written in italics. established relationship, more of character headcannons than x reader moments. lots of fluff and crack and very self indulgent. part one

gojo makes the most ridiculous pick-up lines that don't even make sense. “you're the gulab to my jamun.” you still tolerate him. he's raiding all the vogue india magazines you have and is critiquing every single cover as if he knows what he's doing (suprisingly he does). he hates not being the center of attention so he goes so far as to learn bollywood choreography, screeching at your cousins when they miss a step. throws a tantrum when he is dragged off the stage to make way for the next family performance. if he figures out you like paani puri, you best believe he is finishing his plate even if he is left with tears and a runny nose at the end of it. he needs to prove he's the strongest even if he keeps asking for multiple sukha puri at the end. needs to be chained under a tree during diwali because no gojo, you cannot light twenty rockets at once. begs you to take photos of him with lit sparklers or bombs in his hand. he's the only man you know who can burn milk while making kheer. he “covers it up" by adding five spoons of sugar. his excuse? “it needs to be sweet anyways!” he's also the type of guy who'd get along with literally anyone, even your bitchy grandmother from your dad's side. he loves arijit singh. he was the dude who defended kesariya's lyricism when it released. obnoxious when he plays tum hi ho super loudly during car rides, though his favorite song is raabta. can't get over deepika padukone, almost cried when you told him she's married and even has a kid now? demands om shanti om to be played during every movie night, ignoring everyone's groans of protest. unironically liked chennai express.

nanami is so insistent on cooking for your mother once that it turns into one of those “no please i insist” arguments in the middle of the kitchen. promptly solved by you ordering takeout, much to their dissapointment. sweats a ridiculous amount when he wears a kurta but insists on wearing it to every family gathering. insists on holding the edge of your saree when you’re walking down stairs because he’s terrified you’ll trip. takes rangoli competitions way too seriously. he’s that guy using rulers to make the lines perfectly even while kids scribble around him. epitome of manners. always folding his hands and touching his elders feets. naturally, he is a family favorite. loves listening to lata mangeshkar after a long day. he's one of those people who listens to retro music while drinking tea. he loves amitabh bacchan's movies. adores the family themes in k3g, but mostly watches it for amitabh's towering presence.

suguru is the designated family member to oil everyone's hair with champi. you know that little train you used to make with your grandmother, your mom and you? yea he's leading it always. bonus points if he braids it after he's done. no one's allowed to oil each other hair because “suguru's hands have magic in them.”  the habit of eating with his hands grows on him and he does so even when coming back home. loves drinking fizzy drinks out of those glass bottles - those really retro ones with the plastic straw. when you're not around he's secretly practicing the lyrics to all your favorite songs and sings them with your drunk uncle(s) during karoke night.when asked how he learned, he casually says youtube. a man of manners like kento - touching his elders feet and all that jazz. your family collectively swoons over his manners and looks. loves aishwarya rai's movies, quotes devdas occassionally, and you try not to ruin his moment by giggling.

sukuna spends half of the time in your the terrace, partaking in activities that are but not limited to; air-drying the papad he made himself, shooing away anyone who tries to get close to the home-made pickle he has sealed in glass containers (with a little help from your mom), and feeding the pigeons. pigeons. he takes the last job very seriously too, and throws a hissy fit if anyone gets to him before he does. comes back home every evening with a tan that gets darker and darker by day and complains about it to you. a very good bargainer. gives the women in his family scary dog privileges when he walks behind them with all their shopping bags. your cousin brothers love him because he’s the only one who can beat them at arm wrestling. will hold your belongings when you get your mehendi done. tries not to smile when he sees you hiding his initial amongst the design. this man....he's always blasting sidhu moose wala. i don't know why, he just seems like the type of guy who does. loves nawazuddin siddiqui. gangs of wasseypur is his comfort movie. yes, comfort. also loves sacred games, quotes the scenes to scare off random people.

choso is always tasked with buying the raw materials for family functions - extra vessels, flowers, paper plates, you name it. he leaves at the ass crack of dawn and comes back at noon with enough supplies to sustain your family's next generation as well. and yes, he did bargain well. but in all honesty he didn't even need to try that hard since the whole neighborhood loves him so they always throw in freebies along with a ridiculously low rate for literally everything. the first one to ask guests if they would like to eat or drink something, already rushing to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. the golden boy of hospitality. ends up sitting with the aunties during pre-wedding functions and learning how to play the dholak. gets ridiculously good at it by the end of the evening. loves sitting on the floor with your cousins to eat thalis instead of at the dining table. he says it feels more relaxed that way. likes lighting flower pots and sparklers during diwali as opposed to other crackers, prefers watching your family burst the bigger ones. i hate to say this but he probably listens to prateek kuhaad like a basic bitch and cries over his music because it "reminds him of you." what a guy. his favorite actress is alia bhatt and outright had a breakdown when he watched raazi with you. he was put on a movie timeout for one week effective immediate after that.

toji becomes such a diva the minute he finds out about matkas. always wants his drinks to be cooled and served from it, otherwise he refuses to drink it. water from a bottle? please, that is so 2020. always walks around with an unbuttoned kurta, not that anyone is complaining. in fact, you probably understand now why every aunty always gifts him a kurta for every occasion. the designated nariyal opener during temple visits. acts smug about his skill but secretly loves being helpful. knows all the family drama and fills you in on it every night before bed. refuses to let any random guy ask you to dance. he’s the guy standing in the corner, glaring at potential suitors while casually eating jalebis. eats mirchi like chips, leaving your family absolutely stunned. earns a ton of respect from your dad. i just KNOW this man listens to yo yo honey singh during his pre-workout...stop playing. his favorite actor's probably sunny deol, because "he's literally me."

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[dark-konohagakure2]

sephiroth forcing himself on a girlie thats too shy to talk to him?

tw: noncon, power imbalance, size difference, humiliation, degradation, semi-public sex, misogyny, victim blaming, verbal abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Sephiroth is well aware of his little fanclub of swooning fangirls who are all head over heals in love with him, he doesn't hate it, but he certainly doesn't like it either, he treats their existence with the same passive indifference that one would treat ants on a sidewalk, uncaring if they are there or not, Sephiroth has about as many love confessions under his belt as he does inches of hair on his head, but none of these women interest him very much.

That is the case for a while until his keen senses pick up on someone following him, he initially assumes it's just Hojo coming to pester him again, or Zack coming to ask him more idiotic questions, but instead he catches a glimpse of a girl peeking at him from around the corner, only to quickly hide when he turns around. Being a trained SOLIDER from birth, Sephiroth immediately assumes hostile intent from her, what other reason would she have to follow him whilst concealing her presence?

He'll almost immediately confront her, although not in a brutish manner, no, a man like Sephiroth is one to use cold intimidation over such savage tactics. He'll corner the little spy rather quickly, placing his gloved hand on the wall next to her head as he asks her what exactly she thinks she's doing. He'll watch as she flounders about like a fish on land, struggling to get a single word out as her face turns a bright red, that when Sephiroth will notice a very interesting looking note clutched to her chest.

Sephiroth will pluck the note from her hands the moment he sees it, holding it out of her reach with his superior height, ignoring her protests and pleas as he begins to read it, sneering at the flowery words and shoddy handwriting, it's pitiful how little effort she put into confessing her silly feelings to one as important as Sephiroth. He'll make it clear that her little crush is nothing but delusional wishful thinking, but that won't stop him from taking advantage of it, and of her.

"Oh... How cute. Did you really think a few scribbles on paper would be enough to win me over? How pathetic. But I suppose I can give you what you so clearly want..."

He'll pay no mind to her protests as he rips her shirt open right on the spot, Sephiroth doesn't see why she's protesting, she said she likes him, and now she doesn't? Are all woman this indecisive? Sephiroth has never really understood women, or men either for that matter, he's always had trouble understanding those beneath him, but none of that matters to him now, all that matters is giving this cute little stalker exactly what she deserves.

Sephiroth isn't gentle with her at all, it's just not in his nature to treat anyone with kindness, not even an innocent young woman who's only crime is having a crush. He'll cover her mouth with a large leather clad hand as his hips snap into her's from behind, fucking her just around the corner of the hallway and in the blind spot of the many security cameras in Shinra's hallways.

Despite forcing her to be silent, Sephiroth won't do the same, instead he'll whisper venomous insults into her ear, telling her that she's no different than his other admirers, that this is the most attention any man would deign to give her, and how this is what she wanted from him, so she should be grateful, he's practically a saint for humoring her pitifully misguided affection towards him, an affection that definitely won't replace after this encounter, instead being replaced with fear.

He'll be finished with her rather quickly, as if his body itself is in a hurry to be done with her, Sephiroth won't care if he cums directly inside her, even if he doesn't knock her up, she should be grateful for his attention and his seed, he doesn't give that to just anyone, only the shy little brats who don't know how to talk to people like a big girl.

"Hmpf, I have no more use for you. Now go back to your little hovel like a good girl, unless you want more of my attentions, that is..."

Sephiroth will watch her leave without another word, showing faint amusement at the sight of her limping away, her pussy leaking his semen as she does. He finds her very amusing, in fact he might even consider using his high standing in Shinra to get her alone again.