#who is also kind of old for a rookie

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[interiorlulus]

It's been a year since I finished art school and I still got no clue what the hell an artist portfolio is supposed to be like and now I'm too afraid to ask (yes, they never explained it to us).

[akeaaan]

Changed

Jinu X fem. reader

part2

a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.

Synopsis:

╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.

That is, until fate stepped in.

A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:

Humanity.

Because you weren’t human. Not even close. You were a demon—and not just any demon.

You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.

Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.

Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm. Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.

For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.

So you turned your back on the underworld.

You became a traitor.

Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.

No one knew.

No one ever could.

You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.

Five lives. Five hundred years. Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.

Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.

And for once, you were at peace.

You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.

Or so you thought…

Until he showed up.

Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.

Jinu.

Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.

You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.

That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.

“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.

With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.

It only got worse.

You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.

“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.

And then—you saw them.

The Saja Boys. Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.

But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.

Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.

And your blood turned to ice.

A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.

So did Jinu.

His body stiffened. His eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.

“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.

You didn’t dare turn around.

You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.

Your manager kept walking, still rambling. But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out. The mark faded… but the damage was done.

Something ancient had just awakened.

And you knew, deep down— This wasn’t over.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.

Peace… at least for now.

Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.

“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.

The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”

You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.

So... it was finally time.

You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.

You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.

“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”

You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.

"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"

Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.

"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.

Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.

"Like hell I’d tell you."

Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.

"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."

Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."

You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.

"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."

Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.

"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"

You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.

"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"

You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.

"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."

"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.

Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.

"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."

You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.

"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.

Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.

You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.

"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.

He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.

You took it as permission.

Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.

"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."

A beat passed. Then:

"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.

You didn’t turn around.

“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.

There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.

“…It’s the best I can do right now.”

You didn’t look back.

Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.

Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.

a/n: I really need more of him pleaseeeeee

part2

[comically-callous]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[astonmartinii]

lessons in chemistry | george russell social media au

pairing: george russell x fem teacher reader

part time formula one driver and full time student kimi antonelli wonders whether a date with his teammate is an appropriate gift for his favourite teacher

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

kimiantonelli

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tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: break from racing :( back with miss y/ln :)))))

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user1: first 18 year old actually excited to go to school

user2: and it’s the 18 year old who is already a formula one driver and millionaire

user3: probably helps if you’re in love with your teacher

user4: who is a milf

kimiantonelli: don’t sexualise miss y/ln like that :( she is an amazing teacher and makes me excited to learn about history!

yourusername: thank you, kimi!

kimiantonelli: if there are any spelling mistakes in my most recent essays please direct all of your critcism to @georgerussell63 and @charles_leclerc they were the ones who helped me

georgerussell63: of course i might have spelt things wrong your essay had to be in ITALIAN

charles_leclerc: yeah i have no excuse i didn’t really finish school

yourusername: kimi! what have i said about using your teammates and coworkers for homework?

kimiantonelli: i was being resourceful!

yourusername: you got me there… but maybe next time ask oscar, he’s the only one with actual qualifications

oscarpiastri: she’s not wrong but please do not ask me for help on your homework

kimiantonelli: okay just say you hate miss y/ln then

oscarpiastri: i didn’t say that?

kimiantonelli: okay cool i’ll see you in suzuka because i got an essay about the cold war due after the triple header

user5: i did not realise this was the kind of chaos the rookies were going to bring this season

user6: i mean kimi antonelli is just like me i am also emotionally attached to my history teacher

user7: real bitch representation

lewishamilton: i’m glad to see you are making sure to finish school

kimiantonelli: i’m sorry we missed out on being teammates you could’ve been the one i’m going to set up with miss y/ln

yourusername: excuse me?

lewishamilton: what?

kimiantonelli: i guess she’ll have to make do with george …

georgerussell63: rude?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to set her up with max but he has a girlfriend and a baby on the way - boring!

georgerussell63: even ruder!

maxverstappen1: lol

yourusername: do i get a say in this?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to give you a nice gift for getting me through school and this is the best i could think of!

yourusername: i appreciate that kimi but i’ll be okay with a bottle of bubbly

kimantonelli: hmmmmm… okay!

user8: he’s defo still going to try and set her up isn’t he?

olliebearman: 100%

f1

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f1: happy international women’s day - which women in your life inspire you?

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user9: love me some susie wolff

user10: for real that’s my FIA president

user11: i know toto can’t handle all of that

estebanocon: my new race engineer laura!

user12: bearnelli this, lestappen that - these two are the best duo

user13: queens !!!

georgerussell63: shout out to doriane pin

user14: mercedes girlies sticking together

user15: will kimi say doriane as well or is he going to do the batshit crazy option …

user16: let’s be real we all know what he’s going to comment

user17: i’m willing to bet money on it

olliebearman: easiest money you’ll ever make

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln!!!

user18: omg someone study this guy’s obsession with his history teacher it’s getting crazy

kimiantonelli: woah who made you the authority on what woman i can find inspiring?

kimiantonelli: CAN YOU MAKE THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION INTERESTING?

kimiantonelli: HUH?

yourusername: okay kimi let’s calm down

kimiantonelli: but you ARE inspiring

yourusername: that is very touching, kimi, thank you

kimiantonelli: no worries!!!!!!!!!!!!

yourusername: the amount of exclamation points is worrying me…

kimiantonelli: NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT HERE

georgerussell63: why have you just invited me to learn italian on duolingo

kimiantonelli: no reason…

yourusername: kimi! no meddling!

kimiantonelli: i’m not meddling!!! do you not want more people to learn the beautiful language?

yourusername: i am keeping an eye on you…

user19: i know she hates to see him coming

kimiantonelli: nuh uh i’m her favourite even though she can’t say that

yourusername: kimi please stop arguing with people in comment sections

kimiantonelli: okay! just for you miss y/ln!

georgerussell63: how did you get him to be so nice to you?

yourusername: i’m not sure, but if he’s mean to you i think that might be a skill issue

georgerussell63: this is crazy…

kimiantonelli: this is you guys flirting right?

yourusername: huh?

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername

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yourusername: shush don’t tell my students i’m at imola

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user20: oh i am not ready for kimi’s weird attachment to this woman to be irl rather than just instagram comments

user21: she’ll be in the paddock before she knows it

user22: does she know she’s a niche f1 star like ???

olliebearman: oh i just heard kimi’s scream from here

kimiantonelli: SHUSH

olliebearman: omg it’s like i don’t exist when she’s around… what about OUR SHIP???

kimiantonelli: let me conclude my master plan and we can go back to being vaguely fruity

olliebearman: OMG YAY

yourusername: you done?

olliebearman: what you gonna do? give me detention

yourusername: i can’t give you detention but i can give kimi detention and a little birdy told me you were going on a cycling trip…

olliebearman: I’M SORRY MISS Y/LN

user23: who is this woman and how does she have this much power

user24: one should never underestimate the power of a weird mother bond with a history teacher

user25: i miss mine so bad but it’s not socially acceptable to go see her now

georgerussell63: you just got me called into an emergency meeting because of this post

yourusername: and i should care because?

georgerussell63: because your little man is obsessed with setting us up so i would kinda want to like you before that happens

yourusername: oh so you don’t like me?

kimiantonelli: yOU DON’T THINK MISS Y/LN IS PRETTY ?

kimiantonelli: THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAID THE OTHER DAY ???

georgerussell63: kimi ???

yourusername: it’s fine george, i get it

georgerussell63: WHAT ?!

kimiantonelli: i can’t believe i’m doing all of this work for you george and this is how you repay me

kimiantonelli: i knew i should’ve chosen charles

charles_leclerc: why wasn’t i told i was in the running?

georgerussell63: WOAH HOLD YOUR HORSES

georgerussell63: i thought you said i was the best match for miss y/ln kimi?

kimiantonelli: i think you’d be a good match but it’s mostly for convenience because if she’s dating you i don’t have to argue for her to be in the merc garage over somewhere like ferrari

yourusername: i love how i am getting absolutely no say in this ?

kimiantonelli: have faith in me i know what i’m doing - he seems really uncool, annoying, a massive pain the ass, lanky, bitter and nosey but he gets better when you get to know him

georgerussell63: thanks? i guess?

yourusername: kimi i am more than fine to flirt and find a man for myself

kimiantonelli: but this is my gift to you!!!

georgerussell63: you can’t say no to the boy

yourusername: i guess i can’t…

user26: the most enthusiastic yes to a date

user27: kimi has george fighting for his life and i’m kind of loving it

kimiantonelli

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kimiantonelli: i got on the podium at home and got to set up my most favourite teacher in the world and george on a date

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user28: y/n tearily filming kimi on the podium… that’s her kid actually

user29: i feel so bad for her other students omg

user30: as a student of miss y/ln we don’t have to worry - kimi is so bad at history there’s literally no way she could actually favour him lol

kimiantonelli: I TRY

user31: bro just got his first formula one podium and is arguing about school work i can’t

georgerussell63: first of all - i’m just george to you? second of all - i thought this date business was a joke?

yourusername: so i am a joke to you?

georgerussell63: i am so confused

georgerussell63: i thought this was a joke

georgerussell63: but i would love to take you for some pasta and wine if you’re interested

kimiantonelli: SHE’S INTERESTED

georgerussell63: right kimi, you’ve done enough - let the adults flirt in peace now

kimiantonelli: 🤐

yourusername: so where is this british boy taking me, an italian, for pasta

georgerussell63: well… i’ve got some recommendations from some italians

lewishamilton: I AM NOT ITALIAN, IF GEORGE FUMBLES THIS IT IS HIS FAULT AND HIS FAULT ALONE

georgerussell63: why does no one have faith in me?

yourusername: we’ll see whether they’re telling the truth won’t we

georgerussell63: oh really

kimiantonelli: SHE’S SAYING YES DUMBASS

georgerussell63: i am aware kimi

yourusername: he’s just trying to help george!

georgerussell63: as much as i want this to go well… you will always take his side won’t you?

yourusername: well one of you writes me cold war essays and one of you doesn’t

georgerussell63: i’ll write you essays !!!!

landonorris: good lord that’s embarrassing

user32: george is so pathetic i love him

user33: you’d never catch me writing an essay for a girl

georgerussell63: and that’s why you are single …

olliebearman: @lewishamilton what restaurant did you recommend?

olliebearman: for NO reason at all

maxverstappen1: we have completely innocent intentions

kimiantonelli: i don’t, i want to spy

kimiantonelli: but i will wear a fake moustache for your convenience

yourusername: that’s very kind kimi

georgerussell63: no it’s not ???

alexalbon: i also will be spying

yourusername: and what would that be for

alexalbon: well i need to sus out who YOU are

georgerussell63: finally, someone on my side

yourusername: so you think your friends won’t like me? i see…

georgerussell63: wait! no?

maxverstappen1: if this date is a couple hours of george digging a hole i will get you a life time supply of stroopwaffels kimi

kimiantonelli: i am so conflicted right now

georgerussell63

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georgerussell63: lessons in chemistry

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user34: the way this doesn’t acknowledge literally like half of the grid crashing the date

user35: i thought they were joking about the fake moustaches …

user36: was alex dressed as sherlock holmes?

alexalbon: there weren’t that many costumes available at the store

user37: you didn’t have to literally use the pipe

alexalbon: it’s called committing to the bit

yourusername: everyone in the restaurant had to leave early because you didn’t realise the plant on the table that you were trying to smoke was PLASTIC

alexalbon: god forbid a guy tries to get a bit goofy

kimiantonelli: @yourusername thoughts? feelings? i will slash his tyres if you didn’t like him

georgerussell63: i feel like this is a bit unfair

kimiantonelli: why? your myers briggs types say you should fall in love and get married so if you don’t it’s clearly your fault george

georgerussell63: thanks for the vote of confidence kimi

kimiantonelli: the science doesn’t lie, george

yourusername: i’m not sure that’s what it’s trying to prove kimi

kimiantonelli: ohhhhhh defending him already….

georgerussell63: i guess i just have that effect

kimiantonelli: ewwww not in front of my eyes

yourusername: i actually can’t win

user38: the fact that both kimi and y/n just go back to class on monday is killing me

user39: how is bro gonna be in the staff room with a straight face

yourusername: by the way i’m a history teacher

georgerussell63: so we don’t have chemistry

yourusername: oh! hahahahaa umm 😳

landonorris: omg girl get a grip it’s only george

yourusername: well i can certainly say he’s more charming than you

landonorris: wait why am i being attacked?

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln lando doesn’t know who stalin is !!!

yourusername: excuse me ???

landonorris: i’m so joe she’s stalin taking this dick

yourusername: i’m going to fight you

landonorris: george ??? kimi ???

georgerussell63: i’m on y/n’s side

kimiantonelli: i love miss y/ln so i wouldn’t spit on you even if you were on fire

user40: this is all so confusing

user41: i’m actually kinda enjoying it

yourusername: i’m enjoying it too

kimiantonelli: is it too soon to say i told you so

yourusername: yes. give me a couple days

georgerussell63: i’m very much enjoying this

kimiantonelli: gross.

charles_leclerc: so a date with me is off the cards now?

georgerussell63: YES

yourusername: sorry charles i’ve been charmed

georgerussell63: you don’t have to be sorry

charles_leclerc: omg mr possessive already

georgerussell63: well yes!

yourusername: oh my …

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 51,0347 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: please don’t ask me what on earth has happened in the last few weeks because i honestly don’t know but george is cute and mine now i guess? back off!

view all comments

user41: well well well

user42: what a turn around

user43: gal realised that kimi really wasn’t joking and locked the fuck in

georgerussell63: i knew you’d come around

yourusername: you’re very confident

georgerussell63: well kimi loves you so i knew he wouldn’t knowingly set you up with someone you wouldn’t like

yourusername: he knows me better than he should, i think i should be worried

georgerussell63: how did you guys end up so freakishly close anyway

yourusername: well obviously someone got scouted by toto young and has missed a lot of school and in order for him to catch up i tutored him

georgerussell63: oh that’s… actually cute

kimiantonelli: why did you doubt it was cute - i don’t just attach to any adult figure in my life?

maxverstappen1: sure jan

yourusername: well if you could tutor him in geography that would be great

maxverstappen1: this is what i get for being a flag nerd

user44: her preparing to battle the fans is the funniest thing ever, good luck babe

user45: literally works in a public school i think she can handle kids

user46: do george russell fans even tussle like that

yourusername: someone messaged me to say that they made a voodoo doll of me out of a frankenstein beanie baby and sonny angel but they promised it was just to help us create a soul bond ???

user47: the grussell sprouts are an interesting bunch

user48: love how kimi has just inadvertently fucked every student younger than him at that school

yourusername: i will not abandon my kids!

georgerussell63: the way she talks about them? she’s never leaving that school

georgerussell63: and that’s a great thing!

georgerussell63: i’m only slightly jealous…

kimiantonelli: george, be careful she’ll defo dress code you

georgerussell63: oh so she’s strict

alexalbon: HOLD UP BUDDY

landonorris: we’re getting into weird kinky territory now…

georgerussell63: i’ve seen your internet search history you cannot chat to me right now

landonorris: well i’ve also seen yours sooooo i guess you’re a happy bunny

yourusername: right well my students can actually read these so do we want to stop?

landonorris: what? you gonna spank me?

georgerussell63: LANDO?

georgerussell63: not cool

landonorris: i’ve been blocked

georgerussell63: as you should be you scoundrel

user49: i am so scared of them

georgerussell63: all jokes aside, i am very happy to have met you and can’t wait to see where this is going to go

yourusername: you’re such a gentleman, this is definitely better than the bottle of bubbly i asked for

georgerussell63: maybe i can get some champagne for you next race?

yourusername: i’ll only accept if you help kimi get some too

kimiantonelli: real

georgerussell63: i just have to accept him don’t i

yourusername: you wouldn’t have me without him so yeah you do

georgerussell63: I HAVE YOU???

georgerussell63: i mean yeah i guess he did me a solid

yourusername: you’re such a loser

georgerussell63: but your loser

yourusername: yep :P

kimiantonelli: i think that is mission accomplished

olliebearman: setting us up next when?

olliebearman: huh? who said that?

fin.

note: so we all saw that tiktok.... it put this in my brain and i had to write it! also stay tuned... a certain chapter seven is in the works

[formulafanfics13]

You're With Him? - KA12

Masterlist

Summary: At a quiet Monaco dinner with Toto, Susie, George, and Carmen, Kimi introduces his girlfriend — an eighteen-year-old beauty full of grace, composure, and quiet power. Her presence captivates the room instantly, and it’s clear to everyone: this girl isn’t a phase. She’s the one. Kimi’s already in love, and she’s already reshaping his future.

Warnings: none

They were already waiting when he arrived. Toto in a navy jumper, pacing. Susie in heels, wine glass in hand. George and Carmen curled into each other on the loveseat.

The living room was low-lit, soft jazz playing, the glow of Monaco behind the floor-to-ceiling windows.  It was a small dinner. Just the four of them. And now, Kimi. And her.

The front door opened, and Kimi walked in, blazer sharp, one hand tucked in his girlfriend's. And for a moment, no one said a word. Because she was stunning.

Eighteen. Composed. Hair up, skin glowing, dress simple and beautiful.

Toto blinked. George mouthed holy shit to Carmen. And Susie? Susie smiled. "You didn't tell us you were bringing the most beautiful girl in Monaco."

Kimi squeezed her hand. She blushed.

"Toto, Susie," Kimi said, nodding politely, "this is my girlfriend."

They all knew what that meant. This wasn't a fling. Wasn't a paddock party plus-one. Wasn't a "I'm a rookie and still figuring things out."

This was Kimi introducing his person.

And when she reached out to shake Toto's hand, smiling so softly, the whole room melted.

She was quiet. Polite. The kind of girl who waited until everyone else had poured their wine before reaching for hers. Who laughed at George's stories. Who kissed Kimi's cheek when he offered her his jacket after dinner.

And still she wasn't meek.

When Toto asked her what she was studying, she answered confidently. 

When Susie complimented her necklace, she beamed and said, "Kimi bought it. He said it reminded him of my eyes." 

George nearly choked. Kimi just sipped his water and said, "It does."

And the entire room knew, Mercedes' new golden boy was already in love.

Later, as the evening wound down, Carmen caught Susie by the window. "She's really young," she murmured.

"She's also got more grace in her pinky than half the paddock," Susie replied, smiling. "She's perfect for him."

Across the room, Kimi tucked her hair behind her ear. And Toto? Toto was already thinking about the future, the brand, the story, and the loyalty. And how proud she looked when Kimi kissed her hand before they left.

She wasn't just stunning. She was his reason to win.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader?(no age gap). He saw that someone was flirting with her and she was oblivious to it. Then, he swoops in to ‘save’ her from a bad flirt when in reality they were just jealous. He also feels insecure about his age and to make him feel better, she reveals that she had a surprise for him. You decide what it was. Just something fluff and romantic. Tag me later!! Thanks :)))

You make me feel so …. I don’t know the word in English! -McLaren Fernando Alonso x ObliviousWife! Reader

Plot: Marrying Fernando Alonso was the best decision you ever made, you loved how manly and protective he was with you. However, recently he’s been getting jealous of the other men of the grid and how they treat you.

Fernando Alonso had been your husband for many years. You were sort of childhood sweethearts who married young on a whim and stuck together through it all.

You were able to travel the world with the person, later to be people you loved most. However recently you had a glow about it, maybe it was the fact that you were 1 month pregnant not to the knowledge of Fernando and not yet showing but just had that dewy, glowing skin that made you look radiant.

Everyone in the paddock took notice of this change, not that they couldn’t appreciate your attractiveness before, but now it just made them swoon anytime you breezed into the garage in one of your pretty sun dresses.

Today was no different, it was a beautiful sunny day in Mexico, and you were handing out water and fruit for the mechanics and engineers hard at work on your husbands car. You knew them all by name, you made sure you did, so greeting them was never an issue.

However, nobody told you of the rookie employee that had joined them for Mexico in McLaren garage. You immediately started to introduce yourself to the man, talking to him about what he was doing to the car and asking when he had joined them.

Unknown to you, the mechanic was smitten with you and everything you were telling him about your life. He was listening to every word you were telling him, and that was the effect you had on a lot of people.

“So are you, I dunno coming to the team dinner tonight?” He asks scratching the back of his neck and your about to answer with an animated yes until you feel a hand snake round your waist and pull you closer to them.

You look up and see your husband making you smile and pull him into a gentle kiss.

“Mmm my wife will be attending the dinner” Fernando says, you can’t tell but it’s said with a grit in his teeth and a sharp foxy look in his eyes that tells him to back off.

Fernando was used to you getting male attention, but lately it was constant and you didn’t even know it was happening, you were just so oblivious and he hated that you didn’t realise all these people were flirting with you.

And that mechanic wasn’t even the last of it.

Maybe it was something in the Mexican air, but even Fernando couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you over the weekend, especially after your run in with Lewis, and your old friend Jenson.

When Lewis come up to you, you had a big grin on your face.

“Hey darling. How are you?” He asked kissing either side of your cheeks looking over you with those eyes that would draw any woman in, but you. You had no idea those flirty eyes were intended that way. You just saw the kind chocolate brown and assumed the sparkle and glint in there was happiness to see you.

“I’m really good Lew! Just getting to that point of the day where I’m so exhausted, not all of us are young athletes that look 10 year more youthful than they are” you joked to him making him laugh.

“Mmm you definitely don’t struggle in that department” he says looking over you and you beam at him.

“It’s just so warm, do you recon you can help me take my jacket off? I’m not sure where Fernando is, and the buttons always get caught in my hair” you ask, looking round quickly to see if you can in fact bother your husband with the minor inconvenience at hand.

“Of course, turn around for me” he instructs before pulling your hair back and carefully peeling the tight jacket from your body, now showing off the full look of the sundress you were wearing and how it clung to your most valuable assets in the best ways.

“New dress” Lewis asks observing it making you nod.

“Mmmm, I love getting to wear these kinds of dresses in this heat, they make me feel very pretty” you smile as you shove your hands into the pockets of your dress that when you first got it you couldn’t stop telling Fernando about them, before doing a little spin for Lewis, showing of the small slit in the dress.

Fernando came over the minute he saw the look on Lewis face, who was holding your jacket as he spoke to you.

“Lewis” Fernando faked a smile at the fellow driver, once again wrapping his arms around you so you were in front of him with a tight grip and nowhere to go.

“Hello Fernando” Lewis smiles coyly with a slight smirk. The two make idle conversation before Fernandos dragging you away trying to lightly ask you to stay out in the garage and don’t stray away.

But once he was in the car, you found yourself needing the toilet (Curse the start of your baby sitting on your bladder) and another drink due to the high temperatures Mexico was experiencing that day.

There you found Jenson who was just finishing up with an interview before his eyes landed on you.

“Well if it isn’t Y/N Alonso, looking as beautiful as ever” he grins and you pull him into a hug.

You’d known Jenson for pretty much your whole life being childhood friends from Primary school in the UK. You met Fernando when you went to university in Spain, you always joked that you would have still met someone even if it was later in life because Jenson would have likely introduced you.

So when Fernando saw you and him jokingly messing around with one another his face was like thunder.

Jenson could immediately tell and said a quick goodbye to you not wanting to be at the brunt of the Spaniards anger.

“Fernando baby, what’s the matter?” You ask, coming close to him and trying to thread your fingers through his but he shoves your hand away lightly.

“When will you see it?” He demands and you cock your head to the side, not understanding what he meant, making him groan at how cute you looked.

“See what mi amor?” You ask, using Spanish to see if he’d be calmer.

“You don’t see all these BOYS flirting with you and trying to win you over and you don’t see how it affects me and upsets me! And you make me so mad when you entertain it’s and and I don’t know the world in English because I don’t even think there is a word to describe it!” He exclaims all at once making you step back.

He was really really hurt by all this… and you hadn’t been able to see it.

“Have you ever thought that I don’t notice it because I only have eyes for you?” You ask softly, taking his hand happy and satisfied he lets you this time.

“I know I know, I just think… all of these men coming up to you … they are younger than us and it just makes me think they could give you more than I can” he sighs and looks at you with those little puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t you dare say that!” You exclaim almost offended. He had in fact brought your age into it aswell!

“How dare you say that they could give me more than you can, when you damn well know you’ve given me everything!” You say raising your voice.

“Fernando, I love you, and only you! How can you not see that!” You ask.

“I do see it, I just someone feel insecure and I worry that we are too late to experience certain things and its all my fault coz I put it off because of my career!” He explains and your head cocks to the side once again, wondering what he feels like he’s too late to experience.

“What, what do you think we’ve left too late?” You question.

“Kids, travelling the world without my career being there … I dunno I just had a different timeline for us when we first met” he sighs rubbing his temple before pulling you closer to him and resting his head in the crook of you neck as he takes in your sent.

“Baby, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I was going to wait for after the race so we could tell your parents too but I think this will cheer you up a little … and stop you from worrying about me running over with your colleagues” you joke and he sighs with a light smile pulling back to look over you.

“What is it mi amor?” He asks looking over you. You take his hand and place it on your still pretty flat stomach.

“You can cross a kid of your timeline” you say nervously with a small gulp worried for his reaction.

“Are you being serious?” He asks with a huge grin and he feels around you more to see if there is a more obvious sign.

“Yeah, i only found out before the flight out here” you nod smiling at him and he lifts you up, being as careful as possible with you as he pulls you into a hug.

“I love you so so much! I’m sorry I get so jealous of you, but you can’t blame me when I’m married to such a beautiful woman. Thank you for everything” he smiles pulling you into a light kiss.

Fernando couldn’t be more content with his life right now.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[kiss-inthekitchen]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

[c-rowlesdraws]

Also. Another important theme/message of this version of Ratatouille would be how folks can break cycles of abuse, instead of perpetuating them just because “this is how things are done/how things are”:

Colette is a young fine dining chef in Paris. She learned how to cook professionally in one of the most toxic work cultures on planet earth, and she steeled herself and pushed through in order to excel. After Remy convinces Colette to teach him how to cook, she tries to at first to replicate the ways she was taught in the kitchens of her past, the ways she’d always taken for granted as the only ways to train a rookie into a chef worth anything: brutally reprimanding him for mistakes, raising her voice, letting those ghosts of previous head chefs rise up inside her. And then, in a moment of lucidity, she looks into his big, wet, little rat eyes on a particularly difficult practice day, and sees the hurt there, the confusion, the shame… and she feels her heart quietly break for her younger self and for him, that they both took this kind of abuse, and feels her heart break for her current self, too, about how she’s let herself turn into the kind of chef her younger self had nightmares about, a monster who could make a green cook with big dreams cry.

Trying to replicate this teaching method had been emotionally trying for her, too, and this is the final straw: she shouts this particular epithet or turn of phrase at him, sees how he looks at her… and she flashes back to when that same thing had once been shouted at her through a haze of steam from across a narrow, crowded line when she was in the weeds, her hair falling out of its kerchief and sticking to her neck, the old fan on the wall doing nothing for the hot, humid air but circulate it weakly around the kitchen, and she’d let the sauce split again, how could she be so stupid—

And she decides that she never wants to see that look in Remy’s eyes, or any young cook’s eyes, ever again.

[nobigsecrets]

In honor of Buck and Tommy's anniversary here's a (rather random and incomplete) list of fic I read and loved and bookmarked throughout the past year. Happy reading! 🩷💜💙

the air it hurts by Anonymous Rating: G, Words: 7,569 After Tommy gets hurt in a near-fatal accident, he learns that there are some things he doesn't have to be afraid of. And that he no longer has to feel jealous of the family he left before it became one.

Relax and Breathe by @nine-one-wanton Rating: M, Words: 2,213 Tommy teaches Buck some introductory yoga. And Buck can’t stop wondering.. “Are we still talking about yoga?”

i want it all by @firehose118 Rating: M, Words: 964 Tommy kisses Buck and Buck understands why he gets so horny at the gym.

smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze. by milominderbinder Rating: T, Words: 4,059 Buck meets Tommy Kinard while rescuing him from a car accident. Buck's got no problem with being flirted with on the job, really, it's just — well, it's not usually older men with biceps bigger than his head who are doing the flirting. And he didn't really expect how much he'd like it.

Second Wind by Persiflager Rating: E, Words: 2,210 “I want to blow you,” says Evan, kneeling in between Tommy’s legs. “Knock yourself out,” says Tommy, because he’s generous like that.

i'll make a wish on a star (and i'll wish i was home once again) by @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat Rating: M, Words: 9,735 tommy and evan have big feelings after jee-yun picks the 1983 best of ernie cassette tape as her bathtime soundtrack when they're babysitting. they figure it out. pinkie promise. or: the best thing the buckley parents ever did was bring maddie's old boombox and tapes with them while visiting california.

they begin by @screamlet Rating: M, Words: 12,784 Buck, lost in the bisexual sauce, seeks counsel from his elders: his boyfriend, his co-worker, and her wife. AKA: Buck, Tommy, Hen, and Karen go on a big gay double date.

Hotshots' Number Two Fans by @herrmannhalsteadproduction Rating: T, Words: 7,748 Tommy gets sucked into the Hotshots fandom. (It's Karen and Maddie's fault.)

makes me want to pull you closer by @screamlet Rating: M, Words: 2,674 Buck finally takes Tommy up on his offer to fly somewhere sometimes. The trip is shorter than they expected.

Closet Conversations by @eyesonstars-feetonground Rating: M, Words: 10,559 After his boyfriend dumps him, Evan Buckley goes on a date, makes a new friend, has some conversations, and realizes he's queer. Tommy haunts him every step of the way.

We shall by morning / Inherit the earth. by Anonymous Rating: T, Words: 4,621 Karen offers Buck a political perspective, looking for a political victory, in the face of everything.

Misperception by @emphasisonthehomo Rating: M, Words: 7,289 There’s a new kid at Harbor. He’s the youngest rookie they’ve ever gotten, one of those guys that went for the academy right out of high school. He’s also gay. Flamboyantly gay. Tommy’s jealous. OR It doesn’t occur to Tommy that he should come out.

Truth or Dare by writerdot Rating: E, Words: 1,114 Buck and Tommy and a kind of new beginning.

These are the days of miracle and wonder by @geddyqueer Rating: M, Words: 4,080 Tommy goes grocery shopping, runs into his ex's sister, gets stuck in the middle of a shelter-in-place order, and delivers a baby. Things only get more awkward from there.

"I'm different, too" by federaldust Rating: E, Words: 5,406 Buck takes Tommy back to his place after Chimney and Maddie's wedding. any part of this series can be read as a standalone.

Won't You Come By and See Me (I'm a Love Letter Away) by @dharmaavocado Rating: T, Words: 42,149 In which Buck's world gets bigger and he tries to be better.

A tunnel to crawl through by @geddyqueer Rating: E, Words: 25,538 Tommy makes a decision. Buck meets him halfway. (TW Suicidal Thoughts, Self Harm)

from the shallows to the deepest end by @gaytommykinard Rating: M, Words: 10,557 Evan Buckley (an ally) signs up on Grindr looking for a fake boyfriend to take as his plus-one to his parents' wedding anniversary. Tommy Kinard (guy who should know better) agrees to be his date.

>>> Part 2

[magic-shop-stories]

Hi! How are you doing? I hope you're doing fine! ✨️💜

I've read all your headcanons so I was hoping if you could accept my request. ✨️

They have been dating reader in secret but their relationship gets leaked (You decide how for each member) and it could be angst?

Thanks you for taking time on reading my ask and hopefully writing my request 💜

Have a nice day! ✨️

💌 Reply:

Hi there! 💜 Thanks so much for your kind message and for loving the headcanons! Absolutely adore this angsty request... I appreciate you sending this in, and hope you have the loveliest day too! ✨ - also I'm sorry for the late reply, but I hope its what you wanted and imagined 💜

-c-

BTS (OT7) x Reader Secret Relationship Leaked 

NAMJOON

-“Not all rainbows need an audience.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

starts with a demo track

Namjoon had been working on a solo project

= raw, unfiltered piece titled “Monochrome Rain” 

inspired by the quiet mornings he spent with you

= the way you’d trace constellations on his back while he scribbled lyrics

= the way your laughter harmonized with his piano’s minor keys

he accidentally uploads an unedited version to SoundCloud, in a sleep-deprived haze

track includes a voicemail snippet of you whispering:

“Come to bed, Joon-ah. The stars can wait.”

fans dissect it within minutes

metadata reveals the recording date

= a night BTS was supposedly in Tokyo

ARMYs cross-reference his old VLives

finding the exact moment he’d glanced offscreen, smile softening as if someone had called his name

hashtags trend: #NamsSecret, #WhoIsShe

by dawn, Dispatch has your name

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Stage Persona

at press conference for the new album, he’s asked about the leak

adjusts his glasses

CEO-like mask sliding into place

“Music is a diary. Some pages are meant to be read aloud; others… are written in ink that fades.” 

room erupts in chatter

he doesn’t flinch

Weverse

posts a photo of a stormy sky

captioned:

“Not all rainbows need an audience.” 

ARMYs debate if it’s a metaphor or a confession

Damage Control

lets Big Hit release a vague statement about “private matters."

insists on no lies

“I won’t call her a ‘friend.’ She’s… more.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he’s in his studio

staring at the chaos of papers and half-empty coffee cups

when you walk in, he doesn’t turn around

“They’ll dissect you."

voice hollow

“Your childhood photos, your family, the way you pronounce ‘bibliophile’… They’ll say you’re why the album’s delayed.”

you reach for him

he pulls away

pacing like a caged animal

“I knew this would happen. I’m… I’m not safe. I’m a curse.” 

his voice cracks on the last word

suddenly he’s 19 again - rookie leader who apologized for existing (too loudly)

Breaking Point

at 4 a.m.

drags you to Namsan Tower

city lights blurring through his unshed tears

“I wanted to protect you."

rasps, gripping the railing until his knuckles bleach

“But I’m just… a man who loves too loudly in a world that demands whispers.”

you kiss his trembling hands

he collapses into you

he's muttering into your hair like a prayer

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Album

releases “Monochrome Rain” as the title track

rewrites the bridge

new lyrics gut you: 

“Love, a language too heavy for my tongue / I bite the words, let them bruise my lungs.”

Interviews

when asked about the “mystery muse” he smirks

“Art thrives in shadows. But if you listen closely… she’s in every breath.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more lazy Sundays at Han River

instead, he rents a secluded cabin under a fake name

“Kim Namjoon? Never heard of him”

buys a vintage typewriter to write you letters

unsigned

Guilt

starts therapy

scribbles in his journal

“How do I love her without devouring her?”

Quiet Rebellion

wears your scarf to the Grammy’s

tucked under his suit

lets it slip during his red-carpet twirl

quotes your favorite poet in his acceptance speech

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up gasping

clutching your wrist

“I dreamt they… they took you.” 

lets you hum “Moonchild” 

until his heartbeat steadies

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For When the World Feels Heavy” 

filled with Mitski and Epik High

hides a voicemail at the end: 

“I’d burn it all down for you. Just say the word.”

Ritual

every anniversary, he plants a tree in your name

“Roots are the original secrets, they grow deeper when no one’s watching.”

JIN

-“My only partner is this mic! And Jungkook’s credit card.” -

HOW IT LEAKED

a stray sticker on his water bottle during a Weverse Live

a tiny cartoon heart you doodled as a joke

fans zoom in

reverse-image search it

trace it to your Instagram story from months ago

within hours, screenshots of your matching couple bracelets (yours engraved with “Worldwide Your Handsome”) flood forums

Dispatch digs deeper

= a blurred photo of Jin leaving your apartment at dawn, a bouquet of peonies in hand (your favorite, bought after a petty fight)

headline reads: “BTS’s Jin: Secret Romance with Non-Celebrity Partner Exposed!”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Deflection with Humor

at a fan meeting, a fan shouts:

“Oppa, are you dating?!” 

Jin smirks

flexing

“Why? Are you proposing? Don’t make Worldwide Handsome choose!” 

crowd laughs

his grip tightens on the mic

VLive/Weverse Damage Control

hosts a mukbang

casually showing his bare wrists

“Bracelets? Too flashy! I’m a simple man... just give me kimchi and WiFi.” 

fans notice his pinky ring

= yours, borrowed and never returned

he waves it off

“Family heirloom. My grandma’s ghost will haunt you if you ask again!”

Company Statement

BigHit issues a vague denial

Jin insists on adding more

“Please respect my personal life. I’m still the same guy who forgets to water his plants!”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

Night of the Leak

cancels your dinner date

citing “group stuff"

you find him at 1 a.m. in the kitchen

stress-baking songpyeon with twice the usual sugar. 

"It’s okay...” (you)

slams the rolling pin down

“It’s not.” 

his voice cracks

“They’re calling you a gold-digger. A distraction. I should’ve… I should’ve been smarter.”

Breaking Point

avoids you for three days

throwing himself into rehearsals

on the fourth night, he shows up at your door

hair messy

holding a Budae-jjigae pot

“I couldn’t sleep...”

mumbles

“Kept thinking… what if they hurt you? What if I’m not enough to protect you?” 

you hug him

he clings like you’re the last life raft on the Titanic

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Fan Interactions

starts ending lives with:

“Love yourself! And… maybe don’t stalk your bias’s water bottles?” 

ARMYs laugh

tho the subtext stings

Variety Shows

hosts tease him about dating?

he leans into the joke

“My only partner is this mic! And Jungkook’s credit card.” 

later texts you: 

“Miss you. Will make it up to you with jajangmyeon.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more public dates

rents a private karaoke room weekly

dedicating “Epiphany” to you off-key

“You’re my real audience" 

he grins, cheeks flushed with soju and sincerity

Guilty Pleasures

sneaks your photo into his selcas

hidden in phone case reflections

“Inside joke, with myself. Because I’m hilarious.”

Quiet Rebellion

Gaming Nights

livestreams under a fake account (“EatJin_SecretSnack”)

teaming up with you

“Noob_Queen? Just… a fan. A very talented fan.”

Food Wars

brings you to his favourite’ restaurants, introducing you as “my taste-tester”

chef friends side-eye him

"Seokjin-ah, why is she wearing your jacket?” 

he chokes on kimchi

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Notes

slips handwritten jokes into your bag

“Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was out-standing in his field… just like you.” 

signed: “Your (secret) Worldwide Handsome.”

Protectiveness

buys you a panic button disguised as a keychain

“For my peace of mind. And don’t lose it... it’s Gucci!” 

Vulnerability

falls asleep on your lap after concerts

murmuring

“Jin tired. Just… let me stay here, okay?”

YOONGI

-“My music speaks for itself. If you’re looking for gossip, you’re in the wrong room.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a producer’s slipup

Yoongi had been collaborating on a track for an indie artist

during a late-night studio session, he’d left his phone unlocked

voice memo plays accidentally over the speakers

= your voice, soft and sleep-heavy, murmuring

“Yoongi-ya, come to bed. You’ve been at it for hours.” 

other producer, thinks it’s part of the song

includes the clip as an “authentic, intimate vibe.”

track drops

fans dissect it instantly

within hours, the audio snippet is isolated

looped, and compared to your voice from an old YouTube video where you reviewed his mixtape

hashtags like #WhoIsSUGAsMuse and #AgustDGF trend

Dispatch digs up a grainy photo of you two from a year ago

= Yoongi’s hand brushing yours under a café table

his face unreadable

his thumb tracing your knuckles

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Cold Silence

ignores all questions

at a press conference, when asked about the “mystery woman,” he stares the reporter down

“My music speaks for itself. If you’re looking for gossip, you’re in the wrong room.”

Defiance

releases a remix of the track a week later

your voice amplified and distorted into a haunting echo

title? “No Comment.”

ARMY’s Clues

notices he starts wearing a black ring on his right hand

a subtle symbol

fans debate if it’s a coincidence or a middle finger to speculation

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he’s in his studio

jaw clenched

deleting hundreds of hate comments aimed at you

when you walk in, he doesn’t look up

“You should leave."

mutters, voice gravelly

“I’ll call you a cab. Don’t… don’t come here for a while.”

you freeze

“Yoongi, we knew this could...”

he snaps

slamming his fist on the desk

“I told you I’d ruin it. I’m not... I’m not built for this.” 

his anger cracks

revealing the fear beneath

“They’ll eat you alive. And I’ll just… sit here. Useless.”

Breaking Point

disappears for two days

you find him in Daegu

in the tiny studio he built in his parents’ garage

walls are covered in scribbled lyrics

half of them about you

he’s asleep at his desk

head pillowed on a notebook open to a page titled “Ways to Disappear.”

when he wakes, he doesn’t apologize

just hands you a cup of instant coffee 

“I’m not good at this. But I’m not letting go.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Music

writes a diss track aimed at the producer who leaked the clip

“You want a story? Here’s one about betrayal and bitch-made moves.” 

buried in the second verse is a line only you understand fully

“Her voice is my compass... you just noise.”

Interviews

when probed about “romance” he deadpans

“I’m married to my work. But my work has trust issues.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more midnight walks

installs blackout curtains and soundproofing in ALL rooms

“Our world starts here” 

nodding to the tiny couch where you now sleep most nights

Guilt

starts donating anonymously to anti-paparazzi charities

when you ask why, he grumbles

“Tax write-offs.”

Quiet Rebellion

learns ASL to communicate with you during events

“Love you” 

signs it under the table at the MAMAs

eyes locked on the stage like he’s bored

writes your name in tiny Hangul letters inside his Grammy trophy

“So they’ll never know who I’m thanking.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up in a cold sweat

clutching the collar of your shirt

“Dreamt they… found you. Took you.” 

lets you play his own “First Love” on the piano until he stops shaking

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For the Bad Days” 

filled with angry rap and a single hidden track

= a lullaby he hummed into his phone at 4 a.m.

Ritual

every month, he buys a new plant for your apartment

“They’re quieter than people."

names them after lyrics he’ll never release

J-HOPE

-“Love… is the reason I dance.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a moment of unguarded tenderness

happens during a live dance practice stream

Hobi pauses to adjust the camera angle

“Gotta make sure they don’t see...” 

before cutting himself off

but the mic picks up your voice offscreen

teasing

“Hobi-ya, your shirt’s inside out… again.”

clip goes viral

dissected for its intimacy

= the way his shoulders relax at your voice, the fond exasperation in your tone

fans stitch it with old content

= you wearing his hoodie in a 2018 Vlog, him slipping you a candy during a concert rehearsal.

by midnight, #Hope’sSecret trends globally

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Mask

at the next fansign, he cranks his sunshine dial to 200%

laughs off questions

“You know I’m married to dance, right?” 

his smile strains at the edges

posts a mirror selfie captioned “Alone but not lonely 💜”

a lie so glaring it aches

Damage Control

volunteers for extra schedules

flooding social media with dance covers

ARMYs praise his “relentless positivity”

you see the desperation beneath it

- he’s trying to outrun the storm-

Interview That Breaks Him

reporter asks him:

“Is love a distraction from your art?” 

Hobi’s smile falters

“Love… is the reason I dance.”

clip trends again with edits of him glancing offstage (as if searching for someone)

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

cancels your anniversary dinner

you find him in the practice room

shirt drenched

dancing to “Blue Side” on repeat

when you call his name, he whirls around

eyes wild

“Why did I... Why did I let myself need you?” 

his voice cracks

“I’m supposed to be… strong.”

Breaking Point

avoids you for days

then shows up at your door at 3 a.m.

trembling

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I keep... I keep ruining things.”

collapses into your arms

repeating “I’m sorry” like a mantra

= as if guilt could be scrubbed clean by confession

Fear

confesses in whispers

“When I was a trainee, they told me joy was my only currency. What if… what if they decide I’m bankrupt?”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life:

The Choreography: Creates a solo piece titled “Eclipse.” It’s all sharp angles and abrupt silences, his body folding inward like a flower denied light. Fans call it his “most raw work yet.” Only you know it’s about the nights he cried in your lap.

The Lie: Refers to you as his “cousin” in interviews. Laughs too loud, adds, “We’re super close!” The first time he says it, he vomits afterward.

Personal Life:

New Rules: No more public dates. Instead, he rents a secluded dance studio under a fake name. Teaches you choreography at 2 a.m., his hands lingering on your waist like a secret.

Guilt: Buys you endless gifts—designer bags, rare vinyls, a necklace with a hidden sun pendant. “You deserve everything,” he says, as if materialism could offset the loneliness.

The Quiet Rebellion:

Wears mismatched socks to rehearsals—your inside joke. When teased, he grins. “Fashion is chaos, right?”

Slips your initials into his next album credits under “Special Thanks to My Sunrise.” ARMYs assume it’s a metaphor.

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

The Ritual: Every morning, he texts you a sunrise photo. No words—just light. On bad days, he sends two.

The Playlist: Creates a secret SoundCloud titled “For Her.” Filled with jazz covers of BTS songs, slowed down and soulful. The bio reads: “Love is a dance no one else hears.”

The Tattoo: Gets a tiny sun behind his ear. “So even when I’m performing… you’re with me.”

JIMIN

-“If I had someone… I’d want to protect them. Even from me.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a humid night in Seoul

Jimin’s live stream starts innocently enough

cozy, post-concert wind-down where he’s draped in a oversized sweater

hair damp from the shower

answering fan questions with sleepy charm

exhaustion makes him reckless

when a comment asks: “What’s your ideal date? 💜” 

he smiles absently

gaze drifting offscreen to where you’re curled on the couch

“Hmm… Rainy mornings. Someone who steals my hoodies. And… dancing in the kitchen at 2 a.m.” 

his voice softens

a secret slipping through

“Especially if they’re terrible at it.”

you laugh, unaware the mic catches it

a bright, familiar sound that ARMYs recognize from a cameo months ago

clip goes viral within hours

“WHO IS SHE?” 

next morning, a blurry paparazzi photo of Jimin’s hand brushing yours under a café table floods forums

your linked pinkies labeled: “Proof.”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Mask

next fan sign, he’s all dimples and sparkles

laughing off questions

“Dancing in the kitchen? I was just… describing a drama plot!”

tho his smile doesn’t crinkle his eyes

he signs an album with “Love is patient” 

Social Media

posts a mirror selfie half shirtless

captioned: “Focus on the gains, not the rumors 💪🔥.” 

comments explode with “He’s deflecting!!” and “Protect him!!”

Stage Persona

at concert, he performs “Filter” with razor-sharp precision

hips snapping like he’s punishing the world for looking too close

during the ment, he whispers:

“Love… is a mirror. Sometimes it’s kinder to look away.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

cancels your date

citing “schedule conflicts”

then shows up at your door at 3 a.m.

eyes red-rimmed and hair tangled

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...” 

he chokes

collapsing into your arms

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… ”

fists his hands in your shirt

voice breaking

“They’ll hate you. They’ll say I’m yours and... and that’s dangerous.”

Guilt

avoids touchfor days

flinching when you reach for him

practices until his feet bleed

screaming at mirrors

“Control it. Control.”

when you bandage his blisters, he sobs

“Why won’t you leave? I’m ruining you.”

Turning Point

you find him in the studio

slumped over the piano

playing a mangled version of “Promise” 

he freezes when you enter

“I rewrote this for you” 

he whispers

“But now it’s… a cage.” 

you sit beside him

pressing a melody into the keys

= your song

the one he hummed while making breakfast

he crumbles

“I’m scared...” 

admits it, forehead against yours

“But I’m more scared of losing us.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Comeback

releases a new solo track - “Veil” 

with lyrics about “hands that fit too perfectly to hide” 

dances with a blindfold during the choreo

fingers brushing empty air where you’d stand

Interviews

when asked about dating, he tilts his head, coy

“If I had someone… I’d want to protect them. Even from me.”

Personal Life

New Rules

no more public cafes

instead, he rents out entire movie theaters under fake names (“Mr. Park and… Mrs. Pancakes?”)

learns to cook your favorite dishes so you never have to risk takeout

Quiet Defiance

starts wearing your ring on a chain under his stage outfits

lets it slip during a jacket adjustment

smirk daring the cameras to notice

Healing

therapy

journals: “Love isn’t a sin. Fear is.”

takes you to Busan

introduces you to his parents as “my peace” 

his mom cries

his dad hugs you, asing how you like your coffee 

“You better deserve him” 

but slips you extra cake

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up gasping

clutching your wrist

“I dreamt they… they took you.” 

lets you hum “Serendipity” until his heartbeat steadies

Playlist

makes you a mixtape titled “For When the World Feels Heavy” 

filled with H.E.R. and old Bolero covers

hides a voicemail at the end

“I’d burn it all down for you. Just say the word.”

Ritual

every month, he lights a candle and deletes one hate comment aloud

“Your words don’t own us.”

TAEHYUNG

-“I wanted the world to see you like I do… but not like this.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

a photograph on his private blog

one he never meant to share

Taehyung had been curating a series titled “Light in the Cracks”

= glimpses of his world through fractured mirrors and sunlit dust

one image stands out

= a shadowy silhouette of you dancing in an empty studio

backlit by golden hour

your figure blurred but unmistakable to anyone who knows you

caption reads: “My favorite kind of magic: the unseen.”

fans zoom in

your necklace is a tiny moonstone pendant he gifted you on your first anniversary

matches the one in his latest live

ARMYs stitch timelines

tracing your shared glances at concerts

the way he’d hum “Sweet Night” when you entered a room

by midnight, your Instagram is flooded with comments

“Is this V’s muse?”

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Artist’s Gambit

doesn’t delete the photo

he posts a follow-up

= a close-up of wilting roses

captioned:  “Beauty is fragile. Handle with care.” 

fans dissect it as a plea for privacy

Press Play

at a movie premiere, reporters ambush him

“Is love your new inspiration?” 

he smirks

adjusting his beret

“Love is always my inspiration. Next question.”

Social Media Silence

archives all personal posts except the roses

changes his bio to “Guardian of galaxies.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

he is in his darkroom

red light casting shadows as he develops film

when you find him, his hands are stained with chemicals

trembling

“I’m sorry...” 

whispers, voice raw

“I wanted the world to see you like I do… but not like this.”

shows you a contact sheet of stolen moments

= your laugh caught mid-frame, your hand curled around his wrist, a tear he kissed away

“These were just for us, now they’re… theirs.”

Breaking Point

3 a.m.

he drives you to Daegu

speeding through backroads until you reach his gradparents old farm

sits you under a persimmon tree where he wrote his first song

“Hyung once told me love is a secret you plant."

murmurs

dirt under his nails as he digs a hole

buries a film canister of your photos

“Let’s grow it here. Where no one can dig it up.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Artistic Rebellion

next photography exhibit features distorted self-portraits

= mirrors shattered and rearranged

he centerpiece?

= a single rose encased in glass

titled “Unreachable.” 

critics call it “melancholic genius.”

ARMYs know better

Music Clues

releases a jazz cover of “Someone Like You” 

with modified lyrics

“Don’t forget me, I beg… but forget the world.”

Personal Life

New Rituals

learns calligraphy to write you letters in Daegu satoori

sealed with wax stamps

signs them in red ink

Guilt & Protection

hires a bodyguard for you

then fires them when you protest

“Fine. Then I’ll protect you myself.” 

starts taking Krav Maga

“For art."

Defiant Love

wears a silver ring on his thumb

your initials etched inside

lets it “accidentally” face the camera during a fansign

quotes Pablo Neruda in a Weverse reply

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Midnight Piano

plays “Winter Bear” on loop when he’s anxious

fingers stumbling until you sit beside him

 “You’re my melody...”

mumbles

resting his head on your shoulder

Sketchbook

fills pages with your eyes

...“the left one’s brighter when you lie”

hides it under his bed

lets you find it with a sticky note

“For your eyes only.”

Code

develops a tap system for crowded events

three squeezes = “I love you” 

two = “Let’s run” 

uses both excessively

JUNGKOOK

-“You said… you wanted normal. And I… I couldn’t even give you that.”-

HOW IT LEAKED

happens during a live

Jungkook, half-shirtless and sweaty post-workout

rambles about his gym routine

you call out from the kitchen

“Kookie, did you eat the last mandu?!” 

he freezes mid-flex

eyes widening like a deer in headlights

live cuts off abruptly

but not before 2 million ARMYs hear his panicked: “Uh… no?” and your laughter

fans dissect the clip frame by frame

someone enhances the background noise

isolating your voice from a BTS fanmeet Q&A three years prior

by midnight, your Instagram is flooded with side-by-side comparisons of your hands

visible in an old VLOG and the “mystery girl” in his live

HIS PUBLIC REACTION

Silence

Jungkook ghosts social media for 72 hours

unprecedented for the man who once posted 10 gym selfies just a few days before

Deflection

returns with a thirst trap video captioned “Focus on your gains, not my snacks.” 

comments are disabled

Protective Fury

when a paparazzi shoves a mic in your face, he snarls

“Touch her again and I’ll end you” 

voice so low it trends as “Demon Jungkook.”

HIS PRIVATE REACTION

Immediate Aftermath

he’s a mess

you find him in the gym at 3 a.m.

punching a bag until his knuckles split

“I ruined it.”

chokes, sweat and tears mixing on his face

“You said… you wanted normal. And I… I couldn’t even give you that.”

Breaking Point

that night, he crawls into your bed

shaking

“I’ll quit."

whispers

“Fuck the fame. Let’s move to Jeju. I’ll fish. You’ll… sell seaweed. We’ll be nobodies.” 

you laugh

he’s dead serious.

Guilt & Growt

buys burner phones

creates coded playlists (“Strawberry Milk” = I miss you; "Banana Milk" = I love you)

forces himself to watch the leaked clip 100 times

“To remember how stupid I was.”

AFTERMATH

Professional Life

Music

releases a solo track

“Seven (Silent Nights)” 

lyrics about “loving in the dark, counting heartbeats instead of stars.” 

ARMYs sob

you know it’s about the nights he held you

terrified of dawn

Interviews

when asked about “dating rumors” he just smirks

“I date my dumbbells. They’re very loyal.”

his knee presses against yours under the table later

Personal Life

New Rules

learns to cook mandu from scratch and YouTube tutorials

leaves them on your pillow with Post-its

“Proof I’m learning.”

Symbolic Gestures

gets a tattoo of your initials under his ribcage

“So even if they take everything, you’re here.”

LITTLE THINGS ONLY YOU SEE

Nightmares

wakes up clawing at his chest

convinced your initials vanished

makes you trace them with your finger

until his breathing steadies

Chaos

drags you to Namsan Tower at 4 a.m.

both of you in disguises

“We’re tourists! From… Canada!”

Softness

whispers “I’m sorry” into your skin every time he kisses you

= a mantra, a prayer, a promise

[triplefrontierbabe]

Heyy, I love all of your fics btw, and was wondering if u could maybe write a seb hurt+comfort fic?? Maybe like age gap and reader is a rookie or smth, seb is retired and she gets hate? Or like an argument between them? No pressure tho thxx <3

The Rookie & Seb

summary: you’re a rookie f1 driver, and with the new shift in career you receive lots of unnecessary hate

pairing: f! driver reader x retired Sebastian Vettel

warning: minuscule language, mention of age gap relationship

a/n: yesss more Seb requests!! thank you anon for this!!💛💛

Thank goodness the first race of the season was done and dusted because it was not an easy introduction into your rookie year in Formula 1. Not only was that your first race but you’re the only woman on the grid, an idea that people even in this day and age can’t manage to understand. You had spent the last two seasons as a development and reserve driver, and now you were finally living your dream.

In addition to dealing with the usual skepticism of a rookie, your social media was flooded with nasty comments simply because you’re a woman. A woman who is also dating Sebastian Vettel you might add.

She only has a seat because her old boyfriend pulled strings for her.

Women are ruining the sport.

She’s such a liability on and off the track.

So on, and so forth.

“I don’t get it!” You exclaim, falling back onto the couch in your and Sebastian’s living room.

“It’s like this for all rookies, dear.” Sebastian replies as he takes a seat next to you while sympathetically patting your knee.

“No, Sebastian, it’s not.” You begin, wiping a hand down your face. “Not to pull that card but I guarantee you the other rookies aren’t dealing with this kind of nonsense. I didn’t even DNF this race like everyone else, but I’m getting the brunt of all the hate.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just sits there, blank faced.

Usually Sebastian gets you. He usually understands what emotions you’re going through especially with racing. And, more often than not, he’s able to comfort you when you’re incredibly hard on yourself.

From the start, getting to the top in racing was already a more difficult path to follow. Despite it all you put in the work and some. But, as if it wasn’t hard enough, once the public got wind that you were romantically involved with the veteran driver, rumors started circulating like wildfire. Suddenly you were no longer the young woman who trailblazed a path in motorsports. Instead you were a talentless, paddock bunny whose career was built on nepotism. And that frustrated you to no end.

“Nobody understands me!” You yell as you stand up from the couch, dropping your hands to your sides.

Sebastian’s eyes stay on you as you pace the room ruminating on how you can get through his thick skull.

“Listen, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. People are going to say things that aren’t true and that get under your skin but you just gotta let it roll off your back.” He says looking you in the eyes.

“You think I don’t know that, Sebastian? I know that’s how it is. But I have to go through this with having a man’s name attached to everything I do. If I excel it’s only because a man was there to help. I get no credit for my own talent. But if I suck, it’s because I’m a mindless woman whose only concern is chasing men and ruining the sport. And it’s not that I’m uncomfortable with accountability— I’m perfectly fine owning up to my shortcomings— but what’s it worth if I can’t even claim my own success? It’s a lose-lose situation no matter what.” As you finish, you feel tears brimming in your eyes, your frustration etched on your face.

That renders Sebastian truly speechless. His silence speaks volumes to you and it hurts. It almost feels like he genuinely cannot understand where your frustration is stemming from.

“See, you don’t get it.” You say sharply pointing a finger at him. And with that you make a quick exit and head for the bedroom.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Minutes, maybe even hours, pass before you hear a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Sebastian’s muffled voice says on the other side of the door. After waiting for a moment with no response, he carefully enters the room.

You lay on the bed with your back turned to him, not yet wanting to look at him. The bed dips behind you as Sebastian gingerly sits down behind you. His hand hesitates for a second before extending to gently rest on your back, rubbing slow circles.

“I’m sorry for what I said— or more of what I didn’t say.” He says letting out a small breath. “I know it’s tough out there for you but I guess I never thought outside myself to even think of what additional shit you have to face.”

His words linger in the air before you turn around and sit up in bed to look at Sebastian.

“I just feel so helpless, Seb. I feel like I’m going through this alone because nobody sees it how I do. I thought you of all people would.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t, that was an oversight on my part.” Sebastian interjects taking your hands in his.

“I love you so, so much and I cannot even begin to describe how proud I am of you for achieving your dreams. I’m sorry I didn’t get it before now. Before I even knew you, you were already on this path of greatness. Everything you’ve done in your career, you’ve done through your own power. I’m honored to just get a front row seat to watch you do what you do. No one can steal that from you.”

Your heart strains at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. Nobody has ever talked to you like that. You finally feel appreciated in a new sense. He gets it now.

“I will do everything I can to be your biggest supporter and to drown out all the nonsensical mess that’s thrown your way.”

“Sebastian, I don’t even know what to say.” You reply, your voice hoarse. The look in his eyes tells you more than words could. He’s hurt that he hurt you. He’s hurt that this is what it took for him to see things the way you experience them.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

“I’m not.” he says, cracking a smile. “If you hadn’t, I probably would’ve been walking around longer acting like an idiot offering you useless advice like a broken record.”

You laugh at his words before offering him a silent thank you. And for now, that moment is all you need to lift the incredibly weight off your shoulders.

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

600 followers celebration!

requests are open!

[rookie-love-7a19]

Could Get Messy

Summary: A close call makes Tim and Y/N reevaluate things.

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Y/N

Warning: Explicit. Smut. Vaginal fingering. Protected PinV sex. Slight implied age gap. Slight power imbalance. (Tim is the reader's T.O. But there are no dom/sub leanings in this fic. Maybe another time. 😉 No use of coercion or anything similar.) Bit of angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 3,050

A/N: Okay, so this is the very first fic I'm writing for the Rookie, and therefore, also my first fic I'm writing for Tim Bradford. Be gentle. 😁 At some point, if I get enough interest, I'll start a tag list and a Master List for Rookie fics. But for now, I'm just kind of seeing what the interest is like. 😊 Hope you enjoy!

The noisy cacophony of the Mid-Wilshire station was muted as Y/N wandered down the hallway away from the buzz of the bullpen. As she’d changed out of her uniform and showered, she’d thought and thought about what she might say to Tim. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through right now, and never wanted to find out. 

She approached the room where he sat quietly, his back ramrod straight, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes stared intensely at the opposite wall, obviously not taking in anything in front of him. She knocked gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle him, but he simply turned his head slowly to look at her.

“Hi.” She said as she moved into the room. “I thought I’d check in before I left. Do you need anything?”

His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just waiting for Sergeant Elias.”

Y/N nodded, cringing internally at the name of the IA officer who was known for his hard questions and cold demeanor. “Well, I’m sure everything will be fine. It was a clean shoot, Tim. You did everything right. That’s what I put in my reports.” She hesitated. “You saved my life.”

He stared at her without blinking. “Yeah.” He said quietly. 

Y/N opened her mouth to say more, though what that was going to be, she wasn’t sure. What could she say? Thank you? I’m sorry? I know it’s tearing you apart that you ended the life of a nineteen year old kid. You had no other choice. If you didn’t take the shot, I’d be dead. 

Maybe she would have said all of that, or maybe none of it, but before she had the chance to decide, Nolan walked in. He paused, looking back and forth between them. His voice was steady and reassuring, the way it always was during a crisis. 

“Hey Tim, I’m here as your Union rep, the Sergeant is right behind me. Y/N you can’t be here.”

She nodded. “Yeah, of course.” She turned back to Tim. “I’ll see you. Let…let me know if you need anything.”

Tim nodded once, brusquely, and she turned to leave, but the door was suddenly blocked by Sergeant Elias and Sergeant Grey. She felt slightly cowed by the two very large men that outranked her so completely. But she raised her chin as Sergeant Elias turned his cold gray stare in her direction.

“Officer Y/L/N, is there a reason you’re in here conferring with your T.O?”

Y/N shook her head. “I wasn’t conferring, sir. Just offering him my support and thanking him for saving my life. You know, the shooter was point blank range from my face and his finger was on the trigger. If Sergeant Bradford hadn’t taken the shot, you’d all be scraping my brains from that warehouse wall.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Nolan wince at her harsh visual, and Sergeant Grey was scowling. Sergeant Elias gave a grim, humorless smile. 

“Thank you for that dramatic replay of the day’s events, Officer. Am I right in assuming you’ve already given your statement?”

Y/N nodded and the Sergeant dropped his fake smile. “Then we don’t need to hear them again. You are dismissed.”

Both Sergeants moved out of the doorway and Y/N beat a quick retreat past them and out of the building.

***

Later that night Y/N sat in front of her TV, not actually ingesting any of the news that was on the screen. Today was the closest she’d ever come to being dead, and she was having a hard time getting over it. She supposed it was probably not something a person just “got over” and she shouldn’t try. She’d been ordered to see the police psychiatrist, and she’d make the most of those meetings to try and work through it.

She was more worried about Tim and whether he’d be cleared of the shooting. Her mind kept alternating back and forth. One minute she was sure he'd be cleared (how could he not?) and the next she was terrified he wouldn’t be. 

But no, she shook her head again, he’d done everything right, Grey would have his back and so would Nolan. That had to count for something.

As she lay there on the couch, with her thoughts swinging wildly back and forth, there was a sudden pounding on her door. She jumped up and ran to it; when she yanked it open, Tim was on the other side.

“What the hell, Boot, did you even look to see who it was? What if I was a serial killer?” He asked immediately, with his scowl firmly in place.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re not. What are you doing here? How did everything go? Have they cleared you?”

Tim shook his head. “No, not yet. They finished their questioning and sent me home. I should hear by tomorrow. And I’m still not finished reprimanding you for opening your door before you were sure it was safe to do so.”

Slight annoyance flared in Y/N’s belly. “We’re not on duty, so you're not my T.O. right now. You can’t reprimand me for how I behave in my own home.”

Tim’s scowl got deeper. “First of all, I’m always your T.O. and second, I’m warning you that what you just did was dangerous. What was the point of saving your life today if you’re just gonna be stupid and throw it away the first chance you get?”

Y/N felt her annoyance dissolving, as she saw the flicker of fear and sadness enter Tim’s soft blue gaze. 

She nodded. “You’re right, sir. I’m sorry. I usually check, my mind was just….elsewhere.”

Tim exhaled deeply and Y/N realized they were still standing in the open doorway. She stepped back. “Come in.”

He stepped through into her living room, and she closed the door behind him. He was out of uniform, wearing black jeans and a dark blue t-shirt under a white hoodie. 

It was the first time he’d been in her house, and the informal nature of everything, both of them out of uniform, the soft, warm lighting of her living room, the lack of radio chatter and traffic noise in the background, was amplifying the strong pull that had existed between them since day one. 

Her fellow rookies had teased her for ending up with the legendary Tim Bradford as her Training Officer. He was renowned for being an exemplary T.O., but also for being very hard on his rookies and not giving an inch. 

But she’d been just fine with that; she’d rather be trained by someone who was hard on her but didn’t miss anything, than be trained by someone who went easy on her and left her feeling unprepared. Being a cop was a tough calling, and if she wasn’t up to it, she’d rather she find out quickly.

No, his training methods hadn’t been the problem. The problem had been the immediate attraction she’d felt to him. It wasn’t that strange she supposed - the man was gorgeous, sexy as hell, and a damn good cop - she was sure she was hardly the only woman at Mid-Wilshire who had those kinds of feelings towards him. 

But she was the only one who had to ride next to him all day, every day. She was the only one who fought alongside him, constantly watching him risk his life to keep the city safe. It was a daily struggle to keep her distance from him, to not just lean forwards sometimes and press her lips to his. His smiles were rare, but they filled her with sunshine when they actually appeared and made her want to wrap her arms around him.

She knew she was fully in love with her T.O. which was definitely a problem. 

And now, here he was, out of uniform, in her living room, looking at her in a way that had her stomach turning somersaults.

His gaze was heated and possessive. She couldn't hold it very long, glancing down at her carpet and swallowing convulsively. The silence was thick with tension and Y/N was wringing her hands.

She looked towards her little kitchen, lifting a hand in that direction. “Do you want a, uh, a coffee or something? A beer?”

“No.” Tim said roughly and his tone brought her eyes back to him. He stepped a little closer. “You said to tell you if I needed anything.”

Y/N nodded and cleared her throat. “Yeah, of course. What do you need?”

Tim's jaw clenched tightly before he reached out to cup her cheeks in both hands. 

“This.” 

His mouth landed on hers softly, just sipping at her lips. A sound escaped the back of her throat, half surprise, half need. Tim groaned and tightened his grip. 

His tongue reached out to press gently against her lips and she happily opened up for him, melting against his hard body and gripping the edges of his open hoodie.

He swept inside, deepening the kiss, and making a shiver run from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His hands slipped down over her shoulders, dropping to her waist and squeezing into her flesh there.

He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, swallowing down all of her little mewls of need. He backed her up slowly until she was pressed against her living room wall. 

He pushed his knee between her legs, before pinning her lower body to the wall with his hips. He pulled away from her mouth and both of them were left panting. 

Y/N opened her eyes, and was immediately and completely lost in the ferocious desire stamped across his features. He lifted a hand to run his thumb across her kiss-swollen lips. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I shouldn't be here, we shouldn't be doing this.” She saw the doubt slip into his gaze and she shook her head, denying it. 

He sighed and dropped his forehead to hers. “But I was a millisecond away from losing you today.” He closed his eyes and then buried his face in the hair that fell over her shoulder. “I can't fucking lose you.”

Y/N felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. She pushed her hands under his hoodie, so she could wrap her arms around him tightly.

“You didn't though. You didn't lose me.” She pressed light kisses along the strong column of his neck. “You won't lose me.”

He nodded and pulled back a little, catching her gaze. She was happy to see the doubt receding and the heat increasing.

“I can go, if you want.” He whispered as he tilted his head, and his mouth attached to her pulse point. 

She shook her head vehemently and pushed the hoodie from his shoulders. “Don't you dare.”

He slipped his hands up under her shirt and over her ribcage, before sighing. “This could get messy, you know. We're breaking about a hundred rules here.” His thumbs brushed against the underside of her breasts. “We should take a step back. Reassess.”

Even as he said it, he pressed his hips more firmly into her and she could feel the hard length of him against her inner thigh. His mouth trailed hot and wet over her collarbone. 

“Yeah,” she whispered absently, “yeah, reassess. Good.” 

She pulled his t-shirt up over his head, biting her lip as she finally got her hands on his warm, taut skin. She ran her fingertips down over his stomach, making the muscles tighten beneath her touch. She groaned as she looked at him, letting her fingers seek out and trail over the small scars that marred his otherwise perfect torso. 

He reached for her belt and Y/N let her head thump back against the wall. He unbuckled it and unzipped her jeans. He lifted one hand to cup her breast through her bra, while his other slipped into her jeans and past her panties. 

His long middle finger slipped between her folds to gently brush against her clit. Y/N gasped and gripped his wrist as he groaned. 

“Fuck, baby, you're so soaked. Is this all for me?”

She nodded erratically. “All, always for you.” She moaned.

He pushed her bra up and out of the way so he could dip his head and suck one of her pebbled nipples into his mouth, making her cry out. 

“Tim, oh god!” 

She buried her fingers in his hair, keeping him pressed against her. His tongue flicked across the aching bud quickly, before letting his teeth nip and pull on it. 

He let his thumb take over the sharp circles on her clit as his forefinger and middle finger slid through her slick to sink deep into her body, curling just right to press against her sweet spot. 

Her hips thrust forward and she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming. The bite brought out a harsh groan from Tim and seemed to rip away the last bit of his remaining hesitancy.

He quickly pulled his hand away from her so that he could push down her jeans, and panties. She kicked them off while he pulled her t-shirt and bra off.

She fiddled with his belt buckle, becoming increasingly frustrated when she couldn't get it open. Finally he just playfully slapped her hands aside to do it for her. 

When his belt and zipper were open, she pushed his jeans down, cupping him through his underwear, and biting her lip at the size of him. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband and pushed them over his hips. 

Y/N felt her mouth water at the sight of his huge cock resting against his stomach. She tentatively reached out and wrapped her hand around him. He was so silky and warm, and hard as a rock. 

“Damn, Y/N, you have no idea how often I've imagined this exact scenario.”

He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“Bedroom?” He croaked out and she nodded, pointing towards the room.

He slammed his mouth down on hers as he carried her into her room, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving them both disoriented. As he walked further into the room, he bumped into the bed and sent them both toppling down onto it. 

Laughter erupted from both of them, which slowly turned back into gentle kisses. Tim pulled them both more fully onto the bed, kissing up and down Y/N’s neck and throat. When they were fully settled, and Y/N's body was covered head to toe with his, he pulled back slightly to stare down at her. 

“I don't know what's gonna come tomorrow, and maybe I'm being a selfish ass by being here, by lying here with you.”

Y/N shook her head and opened her mouth to deny it, but he pressed a finger to her lips. 

“But as long as you want me here, I can't make myself leave. I told you I've dreamed of this, imagined you like this a thousand times.” He shook his head. “But that's a lie, cause nothing I've imagined could ever have compared to this.”

He kissed her slowly and deeply, stamping her as his alone. He pulled back to kiss along her jaw and whisper in her ear. “Do you have condoms nearby? I don't really wanna make a run to CVS right now.”

She giggled, punch drunk on him. “Top drawer.”

He nodded and pulled it open. He found one of the foil packets and ripped it open with his teeth before rolling it down his length.

Then he took himself in one hand and slid his smooth, thick cock through her slick before slowly sinking into her with a harsh groan.

“God, baby, you're so fucking perfect. So tight and slick and warm. Never could have imagined this kind of perfect.” He reiterated.

Y/N pushed her head back into the pillows and pressed her nails into his shoulder blades as she arched into him. He began to move inside her, slowly pushing in and out, giving her time to adjust to him, but going slightly deeper with every gentle thrust. 

But she was desperate for more. “Tim, oh god, please, I need you harder, faster.” She begged.

He grunted his capitulation and began to rocket his hips into her, their bodies slapping together. She met his every thrust eagerly, always desperate for more of him, to feel him sink ever deeper into her. 

She wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to press him into her like a brand. She wanted to tattoo his fingerprints onto her skin, so she'd never lose the feeling of him gripping her so tight.

“I'm so close.” She whispered into his ear as he buried his face in her neck. 

“I know baby, me too.” He groaned. 

His hips increased their pace, the head of his cock dragging over her sweet spot again and again until the coil in her belly finally sprung free and she shouted her release. Tim's hips faltered slightly as her clenching heat sent him over as well. 

They laid still for a long time, sweat glistening, breaths panting and hot against each other's skin. 

Finally Tim rolled off of her, pulling the condom off and tossing it in the waste basket beside the bed. He got up and wandered into her ensuite, coming back with a warm cloth that he used to clean her up. When he was finished, he threw the cloth in the hamper and came back to lay beside her. 

He stretched out on his side and pulled her back against his chest. He tucked the blanket around them and rested his chin on the crown of her head. His arm was like a warm, iron band around her waist, keeping her close and safe.

He spoke softly, repeating his warning from earlier. “Things might get messy tomorrow, baby. But whatever happens…I'll never regret this.” He paused a beat and when he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “You?”

Y/N shook her head as she snuggled herself more deeply into his arms. “No, never.” 

[brainddeadd]

Meeting Danny

The air in the Cadillac F1 garage was electric. It was your first official day with the team, and it felt like the world was holding its breath. Everything around you was new—new people, new cars, and a new world you’d only dreamed of entering. But today, it was real.

You stood at the edge of the pit lane, staring at the sleek, black-and-gold Cadillac F1 car, your heart thudding in your chest. The mechanics worked swiftly, perfecting every little detail. The hum of conversations buzzed around you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart and the blood rushing in your ears. You were about to get behind the wheel of this thing.

"Looks good, huh?" a voice drawled from behind you, breaking your focus.

You turned quickly to see him—a tall, grinning man with an unmistakable aura of confidence. He leaned against the pit wall with that familiar relaxed stance, arms crossed. Daniel Ricciardo.

Your stomach did a little flip. Of course, he was here. As your teammate. He was the face of the team, the one they’d paired you with. A veteran of the sport, but one who was known for his playful and chaotic energy. Honestly, you didn’t know if you should be excited or terrified to be in his presence.

"You must be the new driver," Ricciardo continued, raising an eyebrow as if he could sense your nervousness. "I’m Danny, but you can call me whatever you want… as long as it’s not ‘old man.’"

You laughed before you could stop yourself, your nerves settling just a little. "I think ‘old man’ might be pushing it."

"Well, I tried," he shrugged, his grin widening. "You’re looking at the man who's won a few races, so trust me—I'm basically a walking fountain of knowledge. But hey, no pressure, right?" He winked at you, clearly teasing.

You tilted your head, trying to read him. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was all business, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was a slacker. You needed to know what you were getting into.

"So… what’s the deal with this team?" you asked, trying to sound casual, though you were anything but.

Ricciardo pushed off the pit wall and gave a quick, exaggerated look at the car, then back at you. "This? Well, it’s a whole new chapter. Cadillac’s first time in Formula 1. Big deal, huh?" He raised his eyebrows, letting the gravity of it sink in. "But don't get too caught up in all the press conferences and fancy speeches. It's still just us, the car, and the track. We’ll figure it out together." His voice lowered, becoming a little more serious, but still laced with that playful charm.

He leaned in a little closer, as if sharing a secret. "Look, you’ll feel the pressure, I’m not gonna lie. But this team’s got something special. The moment you stop having fun, you might as well hang up your helmet. Formula 1’s a blast—if you don’t enjoy it, you’ll burn out. Trust me."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. You couldn’t afford to lose sight of why you were here: to race. To win. But also to enjoy the ride.

Ricciardo’s grin returned. "Alright, enough about the serious stuff. Let’s get you used to this place, yeah? I’ll show you the ropes."

He slapped you lightly on the back, propelling you toward the car with an energy that was impossible to ignore. The mechanics and engineers working nearby glanced over, but Ricciardo didn’t seem to care. He was in his element—at ease with the chaos.

You followed him, already feeling a bit more comfortable. This team was chaotic, sure, but it was the good kind of chaos. The kind that came with passion, talent, and a lot of fun.

"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice a little quieter now, his grin softening. "The rookie and the veteran, together at last. Let’s make some magic happen."

"Definitely ready," you said, more confident now than you’d been when you first stepped into the garage. The thought of racing alongside someone like Ricciardo, with his experience and his infectious enthusiasm, made the future seem a lot less intimidating.

Ricciardo offered you one last wink before turning to the car. "Well, then, let’s go break some lap times, huh?"

You could already tell this would be an interesting ride.

[hazeysmile]

001 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 -

𝙥𝙖𝙯𝙯𝙞

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at school. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 11.6k

| authors note: I want to apologize for the delay in getting Chapter 1 to you. I've been balancing learning to ride a dirtbike with work, and honestly, my motivation dipped for a bit. Anyway, it's attached. Just a heads-up: I'm still a novice writer, so I'm open to constructive criticism. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread, so apologies in advance for any typos or grammar mistakes. I'll get Chapter 2 to you ASAP!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘-𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗔 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗞𝗞 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗚𝗘─

You were deep in your thoughts about Paige and her sudden coldness, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Nika and KK were lounging nearby, clearly enjoying the show. KK was practically in stitches, howling with laughter as you dramatically declared, "It’s like she’s holding a grudge against me for stealing her favorite Barbie doll!" Your voice hit that hilariously high pitch, adding to the absurdity of the moment.

As you vented your frustrations, the ridiculousness of it all washed over you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along with them. Their laughter was infectious, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, pulling you out of your spiral of confusion. You then thought of Lou, the girl who you gave your number to had texted you with her playful mix of Spanish, French, and English.

As the night wore on, the laughter between the three of you faded into a comfortable hum, replaced by the kind of easy conversation that stretches seamlessly into the early hours. The glow of the phone screens illuminated your faces, casting a soft light on the shared smiles and sleepy eyes. Eventually, the three of you drifted off, falling asleep on FaceTime, the connection lingering like a warm embrace, even as dreams took over.

Fast forward to the university, and you found yourself navigating the labyrinthine campus, your sense of direction notoriously terrible. It took a solid thirty minutes of circling around before you finally spotted the entrance, but you made it just in time, revving up your motorcycle with a grin.

Back in France, you had a couple of bikes that your parents gifted you—gifts that felt more like a way to sidestep their shortcomings as parents than genuine affection. They never quite owned up to their mistakes, opting instead to shower you with material things. You wrestled with the moral implications of accepting their gifts, knowing deep down that it was wrong to let their attempts at guilt-assuagement affect you. But the allure of those bikes was hard to resist; they were your passion, a reminder of the joy that came from the open road. The only reason you were awake, and alert today was because of KK, her infectious energy pulling you from the depths of sleep when all you wanted was to stay cocooned in your dreams.

KK was on one, banging those pans like a percussionist in a chaotic symphony, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I didn’t get no sleep 'cuz of yall! Yall not gone get no sleep 'cuz of me!” The words blasted through the phone, and you and the Croatian woman couldn’t help but groan in unison, the annoyance spilling over even as KK's laughter bubbled up like soda fizzing over. It was impossible to stay mad when her joy was so infectious, and soon enough, you found yourselves caught up in the laughter.

Rolling into the sprawling parking lot, you took in the scene: students milling about, some huddled in groups, their laughter ringing out like music, while others dashed off with purpose, backpacks bouncing against their sides. You slid your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 into a spot, the bike’s sleek, muscular frame glistening under the sun, a true beast of engineering. It was like a magnet, drawing eyes as you parked, a few students stopping mid-conversation to admire the beauty of your ride.

Your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 stands out with its bold black and dark red design, exuding an aggressive vibe that catches the eye. The matte black finish gives it a stealthy look, while the dark red accents. Up front, the sharp LED headlight shines brightly, surrounded by dark red details that contrast beautifully against the black, highlighting the bike’s muscular build and sporty feel.

The wide fuel tank flows smoothly into the exposed trellis frame, showcasing its impressive engineering while enhancing its strong appearance. The ergonomic low-profile seat is designed for comfort and control, inviting you to take on the open road. The sporty black wheels, accented with dark red, not only amplify the fierce look but also improve handling. The high-mounted exhaust system features a sleek design that fits perfectly with the bike's overall aesthetic, while the rear tapers off sharply for a streamlined finish.

As you turn off the engine, the bike lets out a satisfying rumble. You take your key from the ignition, the sound echoing softly. Slipping off your leather gloves, you kick up the stand and unstrap your helmet. As you lift it away, your hair catches the wind, capturing that perfect moment of freedom after a ride.

Your hair was charmingly messy, a look you loved for its natural vibe, though you kept it from being too wild. You wore a gray plaid flannel shirt from Bershka over a plain black T-shirt, paired with black-wash slim flare jeans that fit just right. On your feet were the cool grey Jordan 4 Retro sneakers, and a small sling bag hung casually from your shoulder.

Silver rings adorned your left hand, making your tattoo stand out beautifully, while a stainless-steel butterfly pendant necklace added a touch of elegance. And let’s not forget your iconic white Calvin Klein corten stretch boxers—an obsession you developed the moment you spotted them.

You set your helmet on the gas tank along with your leather gloves, then gracefully stepped off your bike. Pulling out your phone, you queued up your playlist, balancing the volume perfectly. As Bad Bunny's "Vuelve Candy B" began to play, you shoved your keys into your pocket and quickly pulled out your timetable.

As you strolled through the campus, students cast fleeting glances your way, their curiosity evident. Your gaze flicked to the building codes, searching for your class. "Calculus lecture... more like calculus-tastrophe of my patience," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you glared at your schedule.

Around you, students lounged on the grass, engaged in lively conversations and laughter, while others tossed an American football back and forth, boasting about their skills.

School had never been your favorite place; it felt like a drain on your time and energy. Sure, everyone knew you—thanks to your parents, who were quite the celebrities in France with their multi-million-dollar businesses. But that fame came with its own burdens. Playing the role of the perfect daughter weighed heavily on your mental health, especially when you knew you were far too clever for the straight-laced image everyone expected.

Despite being a straight A-B student, you found ways to express your true self—occasional fights, tardiness, and even skipping classes to tag abandoned buildings with your friends. But then came the day your parents discovered your report card. You remembered it vividly, the disappointment in their eyes hitting harder than any punishment could.

"What the hell are these grades?" Your mother’s voice cut through the air, laced with her thick accent, her gaze sharp as it fell upon your slender frame. "Te pusimos en la mejor escuela de Francia, ¿y esto es lo que obtenemos? Cuatro B’s, dos A’s y dos C’s, ¿hablas en serio, Valeria?" The weight of her disappointment hung heavily between you, each word a reminder of the high expectations that loomed over your every move. "No entrarás en las mejores universidades con estas calificaciones. ¡Tienes que hacerlo mejor! No gastamos tanto dinero en tu educación para que descuides tus estudios. ¡Y ni siquiera me hagas hablar de tu comportamiento en la escuela!"

Once again, you found yourself ensnared in this familiar cycle of reprimand, your parents’ towering figures casting long shadows over your spirit. Your mother held your report card as if it were a contagious disease, something to be feared and avoided. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the sting of their words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. You were sensitive to their anger, especially from the two people who meant the world to you.

You despised the scoldings, the punishment that seemed to envelop you like a heavy fog. Most kids would share your aversion, but for you, it felt like an unending quest for perfection, a constant reminder that you had to be their ideal daughter. As their voices rose, so did the prominence of their accents, a clear indication that they were truly furious.

"L-Lo siento, mamá," you murmured, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing; it never seemed to be enough for them.

Your mother scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips as she flung your report card at you. "Is that all you can say? 'Sorry'? Si estuvieras realmente arrepentido, estarías trayendo a casa mejores calificaciones y tomando tu educación en serio en lugar de pasar el rato con esos amigos delincuentes tuyos, jugando... ¿qué fue? ¡Ah, sí, baloncesto!"

You flinched at the bite in her voice, quickly snatching the report card from the expensive floor, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

"¿Por qué no puedes, por una vez, ser como tu padre o tu hermano? Diablos, ¿por qué ni siquiera te gusto? Todos tenemos éxito, viviendo cómodamente en nuestra riqueza. ¿De verdad quieres que te re repudiamos, que te veamos vagando por las calles por el resto de tu vida?" Her tone was laced with arrogance and coldness, sending a chill down your spine. You looked down, arms instinctively crossing behind your back, hiding the report card from her piercing gaze.

Frustration welled up inside you, a familiar ache that always seemed to surface in these moments. It felt as if they were constantly finding ways to wound your fragile spirit, no matter how hard you tried to meet their expectations. Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging within.

"Siento no ser lo suficientemente inteligente para ti. Sabes que la escuela no es fácil para mí." Your mother let out a laugh, a sound that cut through your words, her expression morphing into one of even deeper annoyance. Just as her lips parted to unleash her thoughts, the grand double wooden doors swung open, and the atmosphere of the room thickened, heavy with unspoken tension.

Then he appeared—your father. The last person you wished to see. Standing tall at 6'2", he had a well-proportioned, athletic frame that commanded attention. His deep chestnut hair was trimmed short on the sides, the top styled back with effortless precision, not a single strand daring to defy him, the peppering of silver adding a distinguished touch.

His facial features were striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that was emphasized by a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, a deep shade of green, were sharp and piercing, often radiating an intensity that was both alluring and intimidating. Clad in a tailored suit of the finest fabric, a dark charcoal gray that whispered of elegance, he unbuttoned his blazer, as a designer watch peeked from beneath his cuff.

With a practiced grace, he folded his blazer and draped it over the back of his leather chair, the very seat where he often settled with a cigar in hand. "Alors, qu'est-ce qui se passe que tu m'as appelé de mon entreprise, chérie?" he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with authority, ready to delve into the drama that had unfolded in his absence.

He tilted his head, not sparing you a glance, his piercing green eyes locked onto your mother as she spoke. It was evident he was aware of your presence, yet he chose to disregard it, and you felt a strange ambivalence toward his indifference.

Your mother began to voice her concerns, her words flowing in a melodic rhythm of Spanish, while he hummed softly, seemingly unfazed. With a practiced nonchalance, he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, each movement fluid and confident. A man of many languages, he wielded them as tools in the business world, a skill that had undoubtedly served him well.

Finally, he cast a glance in your direction, an unreadable expression settling on his face as he approached you with deliberate steps. A primal urge to flee surged within you, yet with each step he took, your feet felt as though they were anchored to the ground. You focused on your shoes, your breath coming in shallow gasps, a silent plea for escape.

"Recommençant des problèmes à l'école?" His voice was devoid of warmth, chilling as he towered over you, his gaze piercing through your trembling frame. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a cruel satisfaction at your discomfort. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you mute as he tilted his head, clearly displeased by your silence.

He extended his large, calloused hand toward you, grasping your chin with a grip that felt both commanding and unsettling, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. You trembled beneath his hold, the weight of his cold stare pressing down on you—a look your mother adored, a man she would never trade for anything in the world.

"Es-tu insolente, Valeria?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, low and heavy with authority.

You shook your head sharply, your words trapped in your throat, ensnared by the thick, oppressive air that hung between you like a storm cloud.

"Insouciant?" he pressed, tilting his head with a slight, almost predatory curiosity, his expression unyielding.

Once more, you shook your head, paralyzed by fear, unable to meet his gaze, as if looking away could shield you from his scrutiny.

With an audible click of his tongue, he expressed his annoyance, tightening his grip on your face, and a small whimper escaped your lips, betraying your resolve. "As-tu une langue dans ta tête?"

His voice rose just a notch, the weight of his accent sharpening with each syllable, as you fought back tears, determined not to let him witness your vulnerability. "O-Oui, père." The words finally slipped from your lips, fragile and stammered, tinged with the unmistakable lilt of your own accent, echoing the tension that thrummed in the air around you.

"Dis-moi pourquoi tu choisis d'être paresseux à l'école au lieu d'utiliser ta tête. C'est exaspérant que vous ne puissiez pas voir que nous faisons ce qui est le mieux pour vous. Tu ne m'écoutes jamais, ni à ta mère; c'est toujours une excuse. Chaque jour qui passe, vous trouvez de nouvelles façons de me décevoir. Honnêtement, j'atteins ma limite, Valeria."

Every word he uttered sliced through the air like shards of glass, each syllable deepening the ache that settled in your chest. A tempest of emotions swirled within you, the overwhelming urge to scream or weep clawing at your insides—a desperate plea for understanding. Why did they impose such towering expectations upon you, fully aware of the struggle you faced each day? At just fourteen, the weight of success felt like a heavy shackle, chaining you to a life that felt more like a prison sentence than a journey. All you longed for was a taste of normalcy, a fleeting moment unburdened by their relentless standards. You were utterly exhausted, drained by a reality that seemed to demand perfection while you yearned for freedom. Sleep became your only sanctuary, a refuge from the unyielding demands of a school that viewed you as the perfect daughter, simply because your parents basked in wealth and fame. How tragically misguided they were.

"I'm not lazy! You only see me when it fits your crazy high standards! What’s really best for me—your expectations or hers? You don’t even know your own—!" Your voice was abruptly silenced by a sharp, brutal slap that echoed within the confines of your father’s office. The sting radiated across your cheek, leaving a vivid red handprint as your head turned, the metallic taste of blood pooling at the corner of your bottom lip.

You froze, your head still tilted, the grip of your father’s hand vanished, replaced by his furious glare. Anger radiated from him like heat from a raging fire, nostrils flaring, while tears threatened to spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. The air was thick with tension, a palpable silence that felt suffocating.

"Me répondre, prétendre que nous ne vous connaissons pas ? Nous vous avons donné la vie ! Nous vous avons fourni tout ce que vous auriez pu demander, et c'est ainsi que vous nous remboursez, moi et votre mère!" His voice thundered, thick with a French accent that intensified the fury in his tone. You trembled, rooted to the spot, your bottom lip bleeding, crimson droplets trailing down your chin—a silent testament to the emotional and physical torment you endured.

He continued to shout, his accent becoming increasingly pronounced with each heated word, a torrent of frustration spilling forth. You felt an overwhelming desire for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, to escape the suffocating tension that filled the room. Meanwhile, your mother hovered nearby, her voice a soothing balm, desperately trying to calm him down, and slowly, it seemed to be working.

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, a futile attempt to ease the evident anger and frustration etched across his face. "Valeria, c'est votre dernière chance de répondre à mes attentes. Je vous rabande de l'école et j'engage un professeur professionnel juste pour vous. Ils vous perceront tout ce qu'un lycéen devrait savoir. Il vous est interdit de vous associer à ces délinquants que vous appelez amis, et plus de basket-ball - cela fait clairement baisser vos notes. Je te surveillerai de près. Si tu te fouts encore en l'air, tu vas à l'internat."

Your heart sank at the utterance of those words: no more basketball. It felt as if you were sprinting through an endless abyss, a doorway looming far ahead, just out of reach, with a basketball tantalizingly waiting for you just beyond it. Yet with every desperate stride, the door seemed to recede further into the shadows.

You stumbled slightly, grappling with the weight of his proclamation, your voice trembling as you stammered out apologies in a futile attempt to negotiate with your father. His icy gaze pierced through you, unyielding. "W-Why anything but that? Please, Father, I will try—!"

But before you could complete your desperate plea, his hand rose sharply, halting your words mid-flight.

"It seems I misspoke." The man with the dark hair turned away, folding his arms across his chest as he perched himself atop his imposing desk. Your mother, ever attentive, cut his cigar just the way he liked it, placing it between his lips as she produced her elegant lighter, igniting it with a flicker. He took a deliberate puff, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air. "Je n'ai pas demandé tes supplications, Valeria, et franchement, je m'en fiche. Ma parole est définitive : vous cesserez de jouer au basket-ball. Cela vous a transformé en rebelle. Maintenant, laisse-moi et ta mère tranquille ; ta présence me rend malade."

Fury and sorrow intertwined within you, a tempest of emotions as you clenched your fists, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your heart. You turned and fled from his office, the smoke lingering behind you like a ghost as he resumed his conversation with your mother about matters unknown. Panic surged in your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, every sound blurring into a distant hum. You didn’t even notice your older brother calling out to you, a futbol tucked under his arm as he prepared to leave for practice.

A sudden tug on your shoulder yanked you back, pulling you into his chest, where worry etched itself across his features. He had just dropped his futbol, and his firm yet gentle hands cradled your face, lifting it from the damp fabric stained with your blood and tears.

"H-Hé, calme-toi, Val, d'accord?" he urged, his voice a soothing balm as he wrapped his arms around your trembling frame, drawing you closer. He whispered sweet memories and amusing tales, coaxing your breath into a steadier rhythm. When he finally pulled back to meet your gaze, his frown deepened, concern etched in every line of his face.

He tenderly wiped the blood from your chin. "Tu te sens mieux maintenant ? Dis à ton grand frère ce qui s'est passé."

Your voice cracked, tears welling in your eyes once more, but you fought to contain them, clenching your fists tightly. "Je ne peux plus jouer au basket. Je ne peux rien faire. Mon père va me surveiller de près. Je vis en enfer ; j'aimerais ne jamais être—"

Before you could finish that thought, he flicked your forehead, drawing a scowl and a whine from you as he held your gaze steady. "Don't you dare finish that. You're going to be fine. Je demanderai à Lorenzo et Damien de parler au père; ils peuvent négocier avec lui. Vous savez qu'il les écoute généralement." His reassurance cracked a smile from you, and he beamed back, a flicker of hope igniting in the space between you.

"Maintenant, allons dans votre chambre pour que nous puissions plonger dans vos bandes dessinées. What do you say?" He gestured toward your sanctuary, and you nodded eagerly, your excitement bubbling over as he took your hand, rushing you both toward your haven.

"Qu'en est-il de la pratique, grand frère?" you murmured, your voice raspy from the earlier turmoil. He merely waved it off with a casual flick of his wrist, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Missing practice to hang out with my baby sister? Allez, cette bande dessinée "Bone" est beaucoup plus amusante que n'importe quelle pratique."

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out, your gaze wandering down to your schedule, the ink blurring as a single tear slipped silently down your cheek. It landed softly on the paper, a tiny reminder of the weight you carried. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you hastily wiped your face, your hands trembling, a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Why had that long-buried memory resurfaced? It haunted you—after winning the international U16 championship, you had stepped away from the court for four long years, a decision that felt like a betrayal to your passion. But last year, the call of the game had pulled you back, reigniting a rush of vitality, that exhilarating sense of freedom that once defined you, rekindling your joy in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

Shaking off the shadows of the past, you resumed your walk, determined to forget the memory that lingered like a specter. A group of college students caught your eye, their stares piercing and invasive, as if they were dissecting your very essence. The leader of the pack exuded a casual confidence, his smile polished and rehearsed, as if he believed it could charm anyone into submission. They were clearly jocks, their self-importance radiating from them like a beacon, suggesting they thought the world revolved around their bravado.

As the four jocks approached, you chose to ignore them, pressing forward with a sense of purpose. But the ringleader was relentless, tapping your shoulder with an insistent touch that sent a jolt through you. You kept your pace, but suddenly, a rough hand clamped down on your shoulder, pulling you back and halting your steps with an unwelcome force.

"Hey, pretty girl, you new here? Haven’t seen a face like yours around," he said, his tone dripping with an overconfident bravado that made your skin crawl, a stark contrast to the delicate warmth of the day.

You let out an inward sigh, fully aware that they wouldn’t cease their antics until you acknowledged them. “That’s right. Would you mind? I’m trying to find my class,” you replied, your tone a delicate balance of annoyance and polite firmness, enriched by your thick accent.

The ringleader, a young man with bleached blonde hair and a T-shirt that clung uncomfortably to his frame, remained undeterred by your rejection. “So, uh, what brings a pretty girl like you to UConn?” he asked, attempting a wink that might have held a trace of charm if it hadn’t felt so forced and contrived.

“Basketball,” you replied curtly, your eyes drifting to your timetable as if it held the key to your escape. “And if you’ll excuse me…”

"W-Wait just a moment," he interjected, stepping closer, a flicker of desperation igniting in his gaze. "I’m Daniel. These are my boys—Mark, Leo, and Jack." He gestured to his trio of companions, who waved at you with a blend of amusement and curiosity. "Maybe we could show you around; you seem a bit lost, babygirl."

You felt a cringe ripple through you at the word "babygirl" slipping from his lips. It was already grating enough when he called you "pretty girl." Those words never felt right coming from a guy unless he possessed genuine charm and knew how to engage with women. It wasn't that you disliked men; you simply chose not to label yourself. But you absolutely despised those who missed the glaringly obvious rejections that hung in the air like an unwelcome scent.

"I believe I will manage. Merci, mais non merci. And don't touch me again," you declared, yanking your shoulder away from his firm grasp with a resolute flick. Your natural charm typically drew people in—both women and men—but this man's overconfidence grated on your nerves, as if he believed he could charm anyone in sight. You were accustomed to receiving admiration for your attractiveness, both in friendly and desirable contexts, yet his advances felt dull and discomforting.

His friends erupted into laughter, clearly entertained by Daniel's failed attempt at wooing you. "No need to be rude; I was just trying to help a pretty girl like you out. Hmm, you said you transferred to play basketball—is that all the balls you can handle? I have two in mind that you might like to play with."

A snort slipped from your lips, quickly evolving into a cascade of laughter that bubbled up as you tilted your head back, reveling in the sheer absurdity of his brazen remark. The sound was infectious, a melody of mirth that filled the air around you. As the laughter subsided, you dropped your head forward, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes glimmering with a mix of amusement and distaste. "Let’s get real for a second: your breath reeks like merde, and your pick-up lines are just as shitty. Do yourself a favor and find someone else to annoy, imbécile."

You watched as Daniel’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his expression a portrait of wounded pride as you turned to walk away. It was as if your words had pierced his heart, but deep down, you knew it was his ego that had taken the real hit. As you moved on, he hurried ahead, sauntering backward in a desperate attempt to keep your gaze locked on him, a comical scene that made you wish he would trip over his own bravado and land flat on his face.

“Ouch, that stung! C'mon, babygirl, don’t be like that. I can show you a real good time,” he declared, flashing a grin that was equal parts audacity and desperation, his hand making an absurd gesture at his crotch. You rolled your eyes, annoyance flaring up inside you as you continued to ignore him, striding past with purpose, his three friends trailing behind like lost puppies.

“Hey, I’m talking to you…” Daniel called out, his fingers stretching toward your arm in a misguided attempt at connection, just as a stranger intervened with impeccable timing. With a fluid motion that spoke of practiced confidence, the newcomer seized Daniel’s wrist, twisting it behind his back while applying just the right amount of pressure to send a clear message.

"Ow, ow, ow! What the hell?! Crazy bastard, let go of me!" Daniel's voice rang out, a desperate mix of pain and incredulity, slicing through the charged atmosphere. His friends stood frozen, their eyes wide, caught in a tableau of shock and indecision, unwilling to intervene in this unfolding drama.

The newcomer, radiating an unsettling calm, wore a knowing smirk that suggested he relished the moment. His grip was unyielding, a silent testament to his resolve. "Can't you take a hint, Danny boy? She's clearly not interested. It’s time for you to back off from my new friend."

With each futile twist and turn, Daniel struggled to break free from the iron grip that held his wrist captive, a mix of anger and embarrassment flooding his senses. "Okay, okay! I'll leave her alone! Just let go of me, for fuck sake!"

The newcomer’s smile widened, a lazy amusement dancing in his eyes as he shoved Daniel back toward his friends. Mark, unable to suppress his delight, chimed in with a teasing lilt, "Haha! You've just had your ass handed to you by Elias and been publicly humiliated by the new pretty girl! I can’t wait to spread this around campus!" His words dripped with a blend of mockery and triumph, each syllable a sharp reminder of Daniel's defeat.

Leo and Jack joined the chorus of laughter, their chuckles ringing out like a soundtrack to Daniel's humiliation as they turned to walk away. Left alone, he rubbed his sore wrist, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment swirling within him, silently pleading for this moment to vanish into the ether, hoping against hope that his friends would keep this little spectacle under wraps.

You finally caught a glimpse of the new guy who had swooped in to help, even though you could've easily handled yourself. He stood tall and confident, his short black hair falling in curtain-like waves around thick, slightly arched eyebrows that framed his warm brown eyes. Those eyes, glimmering with a gentle light, seemed to hold a universe of stories, perfectly complementing the straight, defined nose and full lips that hinted at a playful smile, one that promised both mischief and warmth. His fair skin bore a light tan, while his sharp jawline, accentuated by light stubble and a neatly trimmed goatee. Small silver hoop earrings dangled from both ears, paired with a delicate silver stud that caught the light just right. He wore a snug gray hoodie over a crisp white shirt, light blue jeans that hung casually, and fresh white Nike Air Forces.

"Sorry about that; some guys these days don’t know how to take a hint, so I thought you could use some help. I’m Elias Taylor." His voice was deep but not overly so—just the right amount of resonance that made you lean in closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He stretched out his hand toward you, and you hesitated for a moment, taking in the warmth of his smile before clasping your hand in his. The connection was electric, a moment suspended in time, as you felt the strength of his grip and the unspoken acknowledgment of your own resilience.

Elias regarded you with a smirk before saying, "Valeria De Martel! Nice to meet you!"

The way he pronounced your name was almost lyrical, each syllable dripping with admiration and curiosity. You tilted your head, blinking in surprise, momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze. You hadn’t remembered giving him your name, and he chuckled at your bewildered expression, the sound like music in the air. "You've heard of me?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief threading through your tone, your heart racing at the unexpected recognition.

"Of course! Most people on this campus know who the hell Valeria De Martel is! You're the new UConn rookie for the Huskies, and your victory in France winning the international U16 championship trophy? You're pretty badass Frenchie!" His laughter was infectious, a bright spark that illuminated the lingering shadows of the moment.

"Oh... well it's a pleasure meeting you, Elias," you said, your voice laced with a thick French accent, a soft and charming smile illuminating your face as a delicate blush crept across your cheeks at his flattering words. It was a moment of delightful surprise; you had never expected anyone to pay such attention to your highlights or to know about your accomplishments. As he released your hand, a gentle warmth lingered in the air between you.

Elias circled you with an air of playful curiosity, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, before exclaiming, "You have a pretty badass bike as well—damn, this is awesome! I'm a huge fan of the Huskies, but now that we're friends, you definitely have to get me a seat for your games." His words danced between jest and sincerity, prompting you to roll your eyes in a playful manner, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, as if! Why can't you just buy tickets like a normal person?" you muttered, your accent wrapping around the words with a delightful flourish. His laughter rang out, rich and infectious, as he slung his arm around your shoulder. Surprisingly, you felt an easy comfort in his embrace, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t quite articulate.

"Damn, Frenchie! You must not know how things work here in Connecticut," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You see, whenever the Huskies have home games, they sell out in the snap of a finger because the fans absolutely love seeing them play."

"So, what brings you all the way from France, Frenchie? Besides basketball, that can't be the only reason," he teased, his voice a playful lilt as you both meandered down the sun-dappled path, the gentle rustle of leaves harmonizing with the soft cadence of your footsteps.

"Just to travel," you replied, your words slipping from your lips with the lilting cadence of your French accent, a melodic veil over the half-truth that concealed the deeper yearning within. Beneath the surface lay the heavy burden of expectations, the relentless pressure from your parents that loomed like an ominous shadow, casting doubt upon your every step.

"Naw, that can't be the reason..." His tone shifted, a conspiratorial whisper threading through the air, the gravity of his gaze piercing through the lighthearted banter. "Definitely to get away from high expectations and your parents, right?" The casual nature of his words struck a chord deep within, and you met his probing gaze with a blend of surprise and reluctant intrigue.

His laughter erupted, bright and effervescent, shattering the fragile tension that had enveloped you both. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Frenchie! Jeez, you look like you wanted to punch me in my shit," he exclaimed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he cast a glance at the crinkled schedule clutched tightly in your hand, a testament to your nervous grip.

"Let me at least show you your classes and give you a tour. It’s the least I can do for those basketball game tickets. What do you say? Deal?" His sincerity wrapped around you like a warm embrace, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes in playful resignation.

With a nod of agreement, he patted your shoulder affectionately before releasing you from his grasp. As he began to lead the way toward your class, you trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you sprinted across the sun-drenched expanse of the football fields, the echoes of laughter and music lingered in your mind, remnants of a lazy afternoon spent with Elias and his eclectic crew of friends. They had formed a small band just a couple of weeks ago, aptly named Hamartia, a title that hinted at both their youthful exuberance and the inevitable flaws that came with it. Elias, the charismatic guitarist and de facto leader, had a magnetic presence that drew you in, while Dallas, with his rhythmic intensity on the drums, and Daniela, whose bass lines pulsed like a heartbeat, created a sound that was surprisingly cohesive. In your honest opinion, they were pretty good—raw and unrefined but brimming with potential.

Elias had casually suggested that you join the band, a proposition that sent a jolt of anxiety through your veins. Elias had invited you to join the band, a proposition that both thrilled and terrified you.

You had always dabbled with instruments, but the thought of performing in front of an audience made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. Your parents had sent you away to boarding school at fifteen, a decision that had shattered your sense of belonging and left you grappling with their expectations.

The boarding school they sent you to wasn't so terrible, really. Within its ivy-clad walls, you discovered a world of music, learning to play various instruments that filled your days with melody and rhythm. It was there, amid the structured chaos of academia and faith, that you met her—the bright spark that illuminated some of the best moments of your life.

The school, a strict Christian institution, didn’t particularly bother you; rather, it offered a sense of order that you found comforting. For three years, you navigated its corridors, and in your final year, you even embraced the thrill of basketball, the court becoming a sanctuary where you could channel your energy.

You thrived within those walls, achieving straight A's and B's, your behavior transforming over time. This newfound success led your parents to become increasingly lenient, their attention drifting as they believed you had finally met their expectations. Yet, in an unexpected twist, you chose to leave without a word, vanishing into the unknown, leaving them to ponder the silence of your absence.

You weren't even ready, still wearing the clothes you'd thrown on for school that morning. Your long legs carried you across campus, a full-on sprint that blurred the edges of your vision. A trail of mumbled apologies followed in your wake as you navigated the throng of students. Punctuality was usually your mantra, but today, basketball beckoned with an irresistible allure. You'd managed to slip away, savoring this new sense of freedom, the absence of your parents' watchful eyes a heady elixir.

Despite your best efforts, you were still thirty minutes late, a fact that gnawed at your nerves. You could only hope your new coach wouldn't unleash a torrent of reprimands as you burst through the facility doors. The sound was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent gym. Every girl mid-practice snapped their heads in your direction, their focus momentarily shattered. The rhythmic cadence of bouncing basketballs dissolved into an echoing silence; all eyes now fixed on you.

Each step you took, the sound of your shoes clicked against the polished floor, each click amplified by the sudden quiet, as you hurried towards your new coach. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Your foot caught, and you stumbled, gravity seizing control as you crashed onto the unforgiving hardwood. The thud reverberated through the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Paige snorted, her hand flying to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her laughter. Lou, ever the compassionate soul, jogged over to help you up, while KK winced, a shared empathy for your misfortune etched on her face.

Your cheeks burned with the fiery blush of embarrassment, a sensation that intensified with each passing second. A groan escaped your lips as you felt a hand gently grasp your arm, lifting you back to your feet. You quickly retrieved your bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against the cool leather. It was Lou, her soft smile a comforting beacon in the sea of judging eyes. "Esto es vergonzoso," you muttered, your voice thick with a French accent laced with a Spanish lilt. "I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Hopefully, Coach isn't too mad about me being late." The words tumbled out in a hurried rush, earning a low chuckle from the Mexican woman beside you.

Lou simply patted your shoulder, her touch offering a silent reassurance as she guided you towards your new coach. "Aye, todos tenemos días malos, a pesar de que ese otoño fue quite an entrance," she teased gently. "Solo tal vez un poco de regaño, nada que no puedas manejar. Además, esta es tu primera vez en Estados Unidos, así que relájate, chica."

You offered a nod, your face etched with an apologetic expression, hoping to smooth over the situation. Lou gently nudged you towards the coach, then discreetly stepped back, leaving you to face the music. "Finally, you've decided to grace us with your presence, newcomer. You're officially thirty minutes late," the older man pointed out, his finger tapping impatiently on his silver wristwatch. The gesture was precise, each movement deliberate, like the ticking of time itself counting against you.

"L-Lo siento, Coach," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I lost track of time, and this campus is very huge. I think I got lost more times than I can count. It won't happen again." Your thick accent. You couldn't miss Paige's derisive snort from a few feet away, a clear indication that she found your predicament amusing. You chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the man before you.

"Well, now that you know your way here, don't let it happen again. Otherwise, you'll find yourself running until you drop." Geno's tone was a complex blend of seriousness and lightheartedness, leaving you uncertain whether he was joking or delivering a grave warning.

His hand, a warm anchor, settled on your shoulder, the unexpected gentleness of his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the court. "Alright now," he announced, his tone carrying a subtle command, "since our newcomer has finally arrived, gather 'round."

The girls, all coordinated grace, moved as one toward their coach, you, and Lou. Only Paige trailed behind, her face carefully blank. "From this day forward, Valeria," Geno declared, turning his head to meet your gaze directly, his eyes holding a wealth of unspoken expectations, "I will be your new coach. My name is Geno Auriemma, but you will call me Geno. Understand?" You nodded, absorbing the quiet authority that radiated from him. He continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "Listen up! As some of you may know, we have a new foreign player joining our ranks, and a few of you might've already met her. But for those who haven't, this is Valeria De Martel. Let me make this crystal clear: you will show her the same respect and courtesy you expect for yourselves. From this moment on, she is part of this team; she is a Husky." Geno's declaration hung in the air, his eyes locking with Paige's, a silent challenge passing between them. Paige lowered her gaze, a flicker of defiance momentarily subdued.

Geno stood 6'1", a figure of quiet authority that commanded attention without uttering a word. His short, gray hair, threaded with strands of white, framed a visage that balanced strength with a surprising gentleness, the lines etched around his eyes. Dressed in casual sports attire, the modern uniform of his trade, he wore glasses.

Lou's enthusiastic clapping sparked a chain reaction, a wave of applause rippling through the team, a warm welcome washing over you. Lou, ever the effusive one, launched into a rapid-fire stream of praise in Spanish, punctuating her words with a friendly pat on your back. "Now then, Valeria," Geno interjected, his voice a calm counterpoint to Lou's exuberance, "get changed into your uniform. We're going to run a drill on the court." He gestured towards the locker room with a nod, his eyes conveying a silent expectation.

"Aye, aye, Coach G," you responded playfully, your accent thick and charming, as you offered a mock salute. The gesture, lighthearted and irreverent, elicited a low chuckle from Geno. The rest of the team joined in the laughter. All, that is, except for Paige. She stood apart, her expression unreadable, her eyes flicking upwards in an eye roll that betrayed her disdain for your voice and, perhaps, your very presence. Undeterred, you jogged towards the locker room, the sound of your sneakers echoing on the polished floor as you disappeared behind the heavy door.

Emerging from the locker room, the official jersey feels foreign against your skin, the assigned number a ghost of past camaraderie. Scanning the court, the girls are already warming up, their energy a stark contrast to your own trepidation. A touch on your shoulder startles you; Lou stands beside you, a knowing grin playing on her lips, her eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

Adorned in your new UConn jersey, layered over a navy-blue T-shirt, paired with matching shorts. Your feet were encased in Kyire 7 TB Midnight Navy shoes, a subtle nod to modern style. The ensemble served as a canvas, highlighting your sculpted arms, where subtle veins coursed beneath the skin. Your legs, powerful and finely tuned, bore the marks of both athleticism and artistry. Tattoos snaked around your calves, each design a meticulously crafted narrative – a phoenix rising from ashes, symbolizing resilience; a geometric pattern, reflecting your love for precision and order; and a delicate floral motif, a nod to the beauty you find in the world.

Lou stood there, a silent observer, admiring your physique but also puzzled by the unexpected addition of a shirt beneath your jersey. Her confusion hung in the air, a question unspoken yet palpable, as she took in the details of your carefully curated appearance.

"Why the hell are you wearing that, chica? You're going to be a walking sauna out there," she teased, tugging at your navy tee. You held back the real reason—a story for later. For now, a smile would have to do, keeping your secret safe.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips, prompting her eyebrow to arch in playful curiosity. "Just means you'll have a front-row seat to my sweat and tears," you quipped. Before she could retort, a piercing whistle shattered the air, abruptly ending your tête-à-tête. Both you and Lou turned to see Coach Geno, whistle clenched between his teeth, as he announced, "Alright, listen up! We're running 3-on-3 drills today. Nika, Lou, and Valeria, you're a team. Azzi, Aaliyah, and Paige, you're up against them. Let's get to work!" The challenge was set, the teams were chosen, and the game was about to begin.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a sudden reminder of the intensity of 3-on-3 drills. It had been years since you'd faced live opponents, your practice sessions since the age of fourteen relegated to solitary endeavors or occasional matches with your uncle. This was different, a true test of skill and mettle. As you blinked, gathering your composure, Lou's radiant smile cut through your thoughts. Her excitement was palpable, eager to finally witness your prowess on the court. With a playful tug, she steered you toward Nika, who stood observing you with a lazy smirk.

"Our uniform was made for you, beba!" she exclaimed, her eyes flickering up and down, taking in the fabric and the number emblazoned upon it. A knowing smirk touched your lips as you retorted, "Any uniform looks good on me; I mean, just look." With a casual gesture, you lifted your jersey and navy shirt, revealing a glimpse of your toned abdomen. Upon it, a tattoo in elegant Chinese characters, medium in size, proclaimed, "Always love yourself first." A phantom troupe tattoo subtly peeked out from the defined waistline.

Nika's eyes rolled, while Lou's whistle cut through the air. "Show off, now see what you're really made of." She gestured towards the court and the beckoning basketball. You nodded, your Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous flutter. What if you don't play well? What if you've lost your touch? What if they aren't impressed? What if you embarrass yourself? The thoughts swirled as you clenched your hands into fists. Yet, one thing remained certain: you were determined to play in the WNBA; that was your unwavering goal.

As you, Lou, Nika, Aaliyah, Azzi, and Paige took your positions, the gym hummed with an anticipatory energy. The ball was tossed into play, and the knot of nervousness tightened.

Nika dribbled the ball up the court, her eyes scanning for an opening. You moved to the corner, seeking space, but Azzi defended you closely. Looking into her eyes, you saw nothing but focused precision gleaming back at you. Her sharp defense made it nearly impossible to break free. This felt different from the international competition where you'd won the U16 championship cup. There, challenges were scarce, but now you were caught between a rock and a hard place.

As Paige orchestrated the game, her voice, sharp and clear, guided Aaliyah and Azzi with the finesse of a maestro. Her eyes danced between you and Lou, weaving a strategy that transformed the court into a beautiful ballet of teamwork.

"Switch if she cuts left!" Paige's command cut through the gymnasium's roar, a precise directive that echoed in the electric air.

Yet, you chose to ignore her call, instead succumbing to the rhythm of your own instincts. With a swift, deliberate cut across the court, you sought to carve out space for a pass. But Paige, ever the astute observer, anticipated your intentions with uncanny precision, reading the unfolding play as if it were a well-worn novel. She slid into position, deftly obstructing the passing lane and forcing Nika to seek out Lou instead.

"C'mon," she muttered, her voice laced with mockery, just audible enough for you to catch as you brushed past her. "Honestly, Frenchie, don't humiliate yourself out here; it's utterly pathetic watching you struggle to keep up."

You puffed out your cheek, frustration simmering beneath your skin, her words a sharp sting. Inhaling deeply, you fought to retain your composure, anchoring your gaze on the ball, determined not to let her taunts divert you from the essence of the game.

Lou effortlessly caught the ball from Nika, a swift move towards the basket. Aaliyah loomed, an imposing figure blocking any chance for a clean shot. With a subtle flick of her wrist, Lou passed the ball to you.

Instinctively, you caught the ball with ease, shifting your weight and executing skillful dribbling moves that carved a small opening from Azzi. Just as you surged forward, the ball was suddenly stripped from your grasp, leaving you stunned and disoriented. You watched as Paige, already positioned beyond the arc, launched a flawless three-pointer. The ball soared gracefully through the air, landing with a satisfying swish.

As she jogged past you, a cocky smirk played on her lips, her eyes glinting with triumph, "Damn, Frenchie! You're not watching your surroundings at all. Better keep your head in the game, or your food's gonna get snatched right out from under you!" She taunted. You clenched your fist, struggling to maintain your composure, but she sought to break your cool, to know that her antics were working, burrowing under your skin.

As the game wore on, your frustration mounted. Lou and Nika noticed, observing as you sweated, muttering curses in French and Spanish, their attempts to ease your agitation proving futile. Paige's relentless mockery and taunts had burrowed deep under your skin. Despite your efforts, every shot seemed to bounce off the rim, save for a few lucky ones that found their mark.

Azzi's reign over the court, an era defined by her incandescent energy as she orchestrated the offense alongside Aaliyah and Paige, each dribble of the ball was a deliberate act, resonating with unspoken intent. You, a sentinel of defense, crouched low, every muscle coiled, ready to unravel her advances in a heartbeat. Then, Azzi surged, a whirlwind of resolve seemingly unbound by earthly constraints.

Pursuing her like a relentless specter, Paige executed a screen with calculated precision, the collision sending you spiraling onto the unforgiving hardwood. The echo of the impact reverberated through the gym, a discordant note amidst the symphony of the game. As you lay there, disoriented, it felt as though you had collided with an unyielding fortress, Paige casting a long shadow over you, her lips curved into that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

In that fleeting moment, Azzi hesitated, a flicker of pause before she resumed her glide toward the basket, her movements now a study in fluidity and grace. Gathering the ball, she ascended, her eyes locked onto the rim, a beacon in the distance. At the apex of her jump, she released the ball, sending it on a trajectory of exquisite beauty, kissing the backboard before it slipped through the net, eluding Nika's desperate reach.

"We can't keep meeting like this Frenchie. It looks hopeless." Paige called out her voice dripping with cruel mockery as she tilted her head staring down at you. "How's the floor treating you? Tough crowd, huh?" She snorted before laughing at your disoriented form laying on the hardwood floor while Lou and Nika jogging over towards you their faces etched with concern and indignation, directing their reprimands at Paige who nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.

Her words, laced with a chilling indifference, hung in the charged air of the court: "Basketball's a contact sport. If she can't handle it, she can kick rocks." With that, Paige turned, her exit a study in nonchalant grace, though not entirely escaping the subtle censure of Azzi's shoulder nudge—a silent reprimand for the persistent sting of her taunts.

Then, the warmth of Lou and Nika's hands enveloped yours, a gentle but firm invitation back to your feet. Frustration simmered, each breath coming in ragged pants as your gaze remained fixed on Paige, her cocky smirk a radiant beacon in the periphery as she shared laughter with Aaliyah. It was Lou's delicate touch upon your cheek that finally shattered the trance, pulling you back to the present.

"What the hell is her problem?" you exclaimed, the cadence of your accent thickening with the swell of irritation, your finger a pointed accusation aimed at Paige. Lou merely cast a fleeting glance in her direction, her expression unreadable. "She's just competitive; don't sweat it." Nika's hand settled on your damp jersey, a reassuring weight against the storm brewing within. With a scoff, you ran a hand through your disheveled hair, allowing it to fall where it may, as the coach mercifully called a timeout—a brief reprieve from the aftermath of the collision that still reverberated through your very bones.

"Why does it feel like she's always gunning for me? Like I'm the main character in her hate story?" You blurted it out, totally winded. Your jaw was clenched so tight you could feel it ticking. You were too consumed with Paige to notice Lou, who'd already taken off, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she sprinted to grab a towel and a bottle of ice-cold water. All you could feel was Paige's presence, the way her shoulders were set, the deliberate curve of her neck as she pretended you didn't exist. Lou tossed the towel, the soft cotton a welcome distraction as you swiped it across your forehead, soaking up the sweat. She popped the top off the water bottle, the hiss of escaping pressure a sharp counterpoint to the simmering tension.

"Don't let her crawl into that pretty head of yours, chica." Lou murmured, her Spanish accent a comforting warmth. Her eyes flicked towards Paige, a vision of casual charm as she laughed with Aaliyah and Azzi. Azzi's gaze, however, was subtly different—a fleeting check of your well-being, a silent acknowledgment of Paige's uncharacteristic aggression. You swallowed, the cool water a momentary distraction from the burn of Paige's animosity, each gulp a small act of defiance against the rising tide of frustration.

"You're letting her dictate the rhythm of your game, the very way you play." Nika observed, her voice a soft but firm current. You turned, the water bottle still touching your lips, her words a refreshing splash against your rising anxiety. "This court, this team—they're as much yours as they are hers. You're a Husky; wear that badge with pride. Show her—show them all—that you belong here, without question." Her words were a flint striking steel, igniting a spark of resolve within you. It was time to claim your space, to silence the doubts, and to prove, not just to Paige but to yourself, that you were every inch a Husky.

As Coach Geno blew the whistle your gaze shot towards him as you handed Lou your towel and water which she jogged towards the bench to place the water and towel back as she walked back towards you and Nika, "Alright ladies lets resume our position continue this drill. Valeria are you okay?" Geno turned his gaze towards you his voice was commanding and clear that you nodded your head only prompting Paige let out a snort, small laughs escaping her lips but only get nudge by Azzi who gave her best friend that look which Paige retort with an eyebrow as Azzi rolled her eyes.

As the practice game progressed you getting your groove back, you were so focused that you completely ignored Paige taunts and mockery. You made shots from mid-range or deep range without any hesitation that found their marks splashing through the net even giving assists towards Nika and Lou, blocking shots from Paige who became annoyed by your abilities. You and Paige was going head-to-head not giving neither of you room to breathe trying to outperform one another.

The intensity rose up as the ball swung back to your team. Lou held the ball with a calm confidence before it to you. Without elegant effort caught it naturally while Lou and Nika giving you encouraging head nods that fueled your determination. In that moment your whole body shifted into attention mode your focus sharpening like a laser making world around you fade. A bead of sweat tracing down the bridge of your nose and the rhythmic bounce of the ball echoed like a heartbeat.

With a sense of purpose, you dribbled pretending to drive left but Paige already read you like an open book. With a burst of energy you drove right executing a smooth crossover yet Paige remained close to you like a shadow as you approached the hoop, Azzi eyes on you and Paige hoping you would show Paige that you belong and put her stubbornness in place, your heart raced with adrenaline matching steady thump of the ball against the polished hardwood floor.

Paige stood behind you like a determined shadow her forehead glistening with sweat her blue eyes glistening with focus and resolve. In fast motion you leaped forward your body defying gravity as you soared up flickering your wrist up. The ball seemed to dance in your hand as you were trying to do a reverse layup suspended in mid-air as Paige front was near your back she wore a cocky smirk ready to block your layup.

In heart beat as you were still in midair your hand snapped back behind you and Paige as you gave Nika a snake-eyed pass behind your back the ball slipping effortlessly passed Paige guided by your fingertips as Nika effortlessly caught the perfect snake-eyed pass she was positioned in right corner behind the three-point line, your eyes were sharp finding the open you felt Azzi gaze on your and Paige which created a opening for you as Nika squared her shoulders her gaze determined and leapt into the action as Azzi rushed over intent to on a jump block but the ball was already released gliding through the air in a seamless arc destined for glory. It found its mark with a satisfying swish the net rippling gently as it embraced the ball like a long-lost friend.

When the pass happened, it was more than just a play; it was a statement. The ball arced through the air, a perfect trajectory ending with your teammate’s triumphant score.

A slow, satisfied smirk curled your lips, mirroring the arrogance Paige had displayed just moments before. The taste of retribution was indeed sweet. "Wow, you're really committed to letting me make that pass, aren't you? Thanks for the assist, carino," you purred, the words dripping with a rich accent that underscored the sting. It wasn't just about the points; it was about turning her own game against her, a subtle yet decisive victory in your ongoing battle.

As you jogged back to your defensive position, you caught Paige’s eye roll and scoff. She dismissed it as mere luck, a fluke that wouldn't be repeated. But you knew better. It wasn't luck; it was precision, strategy, and a touch of poetic justice.

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about, Frenchie!" Nika's cheer cut through the air, her hand finding yours in a sharp, satisfying high five. It was a brief, electric connection, followed by the familiar, intricate handshake the two of you had concocted during countless practice sessions. Lou, never one to be left out, rushed over, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Good shit, chica! Didn't even see that coming—hell, I honestly don't think Paige seen it coming!" Her Spanish accent, usually a low murmur, now vibrated with excitement and praise.

The three of you fell back into formation, ready to seize the game. The wave of approval from Nika and Lou washed over you, bolstering your confidence and determination. The earlier frustration and anger, which had threatened to consume you, began to dissipate like mist under the morning sun. Your gaze drifted towards Paige, who was already staring at you, her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. It was a look that could kill, a silent promise of retribution that sent a faint shiver down your spine. Yet, you shook it off, unable to resist the impulse to meet her gaze with a taunting smirk.

As the 3v3 scrimmage wound down, the score was deadlocked, and the air crackled with anticipation. The next basket would likely decide the game, and everyone in the gym knew it. Paige had possession of the ball, her eyes locked onto you as she slowly dribbled up the court. Each bounce echoed in the tense silence, a metronome counting down to the inevitable clash.

Paige signaled for a screen from Azzi, but you anticipated the move, fighting through the pick and sticking to Paige like a shadow. Paige dribbled right, then crossed back to her left, a fluid motion designed to create separation, but you mirrored her every step, refusing to yield an inch of space. As she approached the free-throw line, she rose for a mid-range jumper, her form a testament to countless hours of practice. In that fleeting moment, you sprang upwards, your hand outstretched, your fingertips barely grazing the ball as it sailed through the air. It found its mark, hitting the rim with a metallic clang before bouncing away, the sound echoing the intensity of the moment.

"Rebound!" you called out, a cocky grin spreading across your face. The earlier words of Nika and Lou had worked their magic, restoring the confidence that had momentarily deserted you.

Nika secured the rebound and fired a quick pass up court. You exploded into a sprint, gliding towards the paint, your feet dancing across the smooth hardwood like a seasoned performer on a polished stage. Paige scrambled back on defense, but you were already a step ahead, anticipation fueling your every move. As you reached the paint, Nika lobbed a perfectly timed pass, the ball arcing gracefully through the air towards your outstretched hands.

Paige lunged, desperation etched on her face, but she was a heartbeat too late. You ascended, not merely jumping, but launching yourself into a gravity-defying ballet. It was a breathtaking rise, an arc of defiance against the mundane. Your hand met the rim, and with a primal roar of exertion, you slammed the ball through the net, the sound echoing through the stunned arena.

"Game!" Coach Geno bellowed, the whistle piercing the stunned silence, yet a flicker of admiration danced in his eyes. You landed, a warrior returning from battle, sweat tracing glistening paths on your forehead, your hands finding purchase on your hips as you gulped in air. Nika and Lou converged on you, a jubilant storm of celebration, their voices a chorus of triumph.

High fives rained down, each slap a jolt of pure adrenaline. The exhilaration coursed through your veins, a heady cocktail of victory and exhaustion. It was a rare and exquisite sensation, this challenge, this hard-fought win. You had half-expected to dominate, accustomed as you were to the relative ease of the U16 European championships. But Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers were a different breed, a relentless force, their skill a mesmerizing blend of artistry and power. They were relentless on both sides of the ball, they were skilled in both offense and defense, leaving you in awe and breathless and yearning for more.

Nika loops her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a familiar side hug, yet you can't shake the prickling sensation of a cold stare boring into you from across the court. It's Paige. Her gaze is sharp, unwavering, a silent challenge cutting through the post-game jubilation.

"Damn, damn Frenchie! I thought you were handing them the win for sure?" KK's teasing grin breaks through the tension as she approaches, dapping you up, your practiced handshake a familiar rhythm in the chaos. She praises your performance, a flurry of words that barely register as Azzi approaches, her smile soft and genuine.

Turning your head, you offer a lazy yet charming smile. "Wow, Valerie, you're truly amazing out there. Can't wait to see you play for us in a actual game." Her voice is rich, melodic, drawing you in like a siren's call. Your heart thuds against your chest at her words, your cheeks already flushed from the heat of the game now tinted a deeper pink.

She gently pulls you away from Nika, who doesn't seem to mind, already deep in conversation with Lou about your dunk – a feat they'd never seen a woman your height accomplish. Azzi's hug is warm, close, the sweat and heat from her body seeping into yours. Her hands rest loosely on your waist, but it's the brush of her lips against the shell of your ear that sends a shiver down your spine, a sensual whisper that speaks volumes.

"The way you moved on the court was mesmerizing, like a dance that I couldn't take my eyes off of." Azzi's words hung in the air, a silken thread that tugged at your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a fleeting moment, her voice a husky caress that resonated deep within your bones. It was a siren's song, a melody you could drown in without a second thought. "T-Thanks, Azzi," you stammered, the word catching in your throat. "You were truly remarkable. I've never broken a sweat like this. It's exhilarating."

You cursed the betraying stutter, but Azzi seemed to find it endearing, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your ear. "Maybe we can do 1v1 sometime. I promise to make you sweat even more." The words, innocent on the surface, dripped with a sensual undercurrent that sent a shiver dancing down your spine. Your face flushed crimson, your breath hitching in your chest. Perhaps you were reading too much into her playful banter, but the way she'd purred those words, the tantalizing promise in her voice, left your knees weak and your mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Paige, a storm cloud brewing in her eyes, marched past without so much as a glance, her silence a stinging rebuke. Yet, despite the intoxicating pull of Azzi's presence, a desperate need to bridge the chasm between you and Paige surged within you. "Excuse me for a moment," you murmured to Azzi, her fingers reluctantly leaving your waist, a departure that left a pleasant ache in their wake. You jogged after Paige, reaching out, your fingertips grazing her wrist. The moment she felt your touch, she recoiled as if burned, snatching her arm away with a disdainful flick of her wrist.

She stopped, glancing back to find you trailing behind, a sheen of sweat on your brow and a soft smile playing on your lips. "You are incredible point guard," you blurted out, your accent thick and rich with genuine admiration. "I hope to learn from you, that we can become great teammates in the future!" You extended a hand, half-expecting her to turn away, to dismiss you with a scoff. Instead, she moved closer, her presence towering over you. Her hand clasped yours, a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip that sent a jolt through you. In a swift motion, your head found itself resting against her shoulder, her lips ghosting against the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Frenchie, listen and listen very closely," she murmured, her voice a deep, resonant timbre that sent shivers down your spine. "I don't like you. I can't stand the sight of you. We will never be teammates. Your win today? A fluke. Pure, dumb luck, and it won't happen again. Got it?"

Her words were like shards of ice, each syllable cutting through you with chilling precision. You were left speechless, the air thick with unspoken emotions. She released your hand, the warmth of her body abruptly gone as she turned her back to you. You instinctively reached up to touch your ear, now burning with a flush, your lips parting to form words that caught in your throat. Despite the sting of her rejection, a strange sense of elation bubbled within you. You were shocked, surprised that she had touched you, had spoken to you with such raw intensity. It was a small victory, perhaps, a twisted sort of progress that others might deem insane.

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

when i taste blood in my mouth, i feel alive

- simon 'ghost' riley x male! reader

warnings: sparring is like sex but for boys, slight objectification, brat taming and forcemasc if you squint and overanalyze everything the way i want u to notes: never believe me when i tell yall im gonna start writing regularly again. also if you saw me post the rough draft on accident no u didnt

fem aligned dni

a dog with blood in its mouth - flat sound

Sweat prickled down his face, burning his eyes, catching in the corners. He blinked hard, jaw tight, the heat pressing in, oppressive, thick like a blanket, sticking to his skin and crawling along his spine. Something animal clawed at his insides. Adrenaline, hunger, whatever it was, prickled his skin and made his teeth itch. Low, wild, unsettled, a raw, nervous want. Not nervous like prey. Not tonight. He could feel it in the way his gaze kept flicking to Simon’s throat, his teeth aching, jaw clenching with the urge to close them round Simon’s throat, just to taste it. Just to prove he could. He wanted to leave a mark, something Simon couldn’t ignore. Every inhale tasted like old gym mat and fluorescent light. Two predators circling, all teeth and heat, blood warming in the dark.

The air between them was thick, almost sticky, and not just from the sweat. Something else simmered there—unspoken, dangerous, and edged with heat.

Simon, for his part, looked bored. To him, [Name] was noise. A rookie, a distraction, too slow, too sloppy, too wet behind the ears, however you wanna put it, [Name] failed to be much of a threat. He was dead weight. If no one had beat that lesson into him yet, Simon was willing to take on that responsibility. [Name] was a problem to solve, or maybe a body to break in. Simon’s eyes, cold and bottomless, slid over [Name] as if cataloging every flaw, every twitch, every secret. There was still something deeper to that glare, something he wouldn’t dare share. Not to someone who still flinched.

The sky outside was thick black, the kind you could drown in. Inside, the training room was all harsh fluorescence. Cruel, cold blue-white tubes buzz incessantly overhead, draining the color out of everything. 

[Name] moved with forced calm, like if he got it wrong, he’d be proving that he was exactly what Simon made him out to be– raw, half-made, desperate to prove something. Like he was trying to convince himself and Simon alike that he belonged here. He wasn’t an idiot, no matter what Simon thought. He didn’t wind up here through sheer luck, at least not luck alone. He knew how to take a beating and grit his teeth. At least they could both recognize that much. 

He kept moving. He was never still, never predictable, always searching for the gap. [Name] overthought every step, every twitch, focus fraying at the edges. But Simon wasn’t giving him shit. No tells, no slip, no gap. He was a wall, unyielding and unreadable. Simon must’ve seen it, the way he faltered, the way his eyes flickered to the line of his jaw, the thick column of his neck, the way his arms flexed even at rest. It made something low and hungry twist in [Name]’s gut.

Simon caught it and pounced. Quick, brutal, efficient. He closed the distance, fist grabbing a handful of [Name]’s sleeve, the other locking on his wrist as he raised it to counter, grip like iron. A hard yank, a twist, world tilting. His back met the thin padded mat, useless as sharp pain carved a line up the length of his back. Breath punched out of him, vision blurred, and body aching. He clenched his jaw and took the pain. He wouldn’t give Simon the satisfaction of a wince.

Not that it mattered. Simon could tell. Hopefully, the pain would serve as a reminder of exactly who was in charge.

Simon was already up, standing above him, not even winded, hands perched on his hips. “Left my back open with that toss.” [Name] could hear the sneer etched on Simon’s face, mask be damned, vowels tight and accent thick. “Could’ve had me, if you’d been paying attention. But you fucked it. Again.”

His words stung worse than the landing. [Name] forced himself upright, jaw tight, looking anywhere other than Simon. Still, the contempt in Simon’s eyes had a weight to it, palpable, sharp, assessing. “Keep that up, you’ll end up with a bullet in your skull. Get your mates killed too. That shit’s not gonna cut it, lad. Not here.”

[Name] risked a glance up, their eyes meeting for a split second. The look Simon gave him was heavy, loaded with something dangerous. It sent a shiver down [Name]’s spine, made him want to bare his teeth in response.

It wasn’t fair. He was just a man. Nothing special, not really, no matter what the medals and empty praise suggested. All those years of being told he’d be something more, now reduced to this; aching on the mat, humiliated by a man built to break people. Simon’s shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to the curve of his back and the swell of his chest, fabric stretched tight over muscle and fat. Unforgiving, solid. Built for this. Like violence was just muscle memory. Something twisted in his gut, hot and mean and desperate.

“Got something to say?” Simon’s voice cut through the haze, tight and impatient.

[Name] dropped his gaze, ears hot and red. “No, sir.” The words came out clipped, almost sarcastic.

“Didn’t think so. Get up.”

He forced himself up, joints cracking, every muscle protesting, body heavy. He rolled his shoulders, tried to shake out the tension that clung to him. The only thing that kept him upright was want. It was a live wire under his skin. It was ugly. But it was his. Not a want to win, but to feel. Feel his fist connect with the soft tissue behind that mask, the heat, and weight of him, to leave a mark that would last, to see what it took to make someone like Simon bleed, to see it smeared on his lips. There was an intimacy to it. Knowing what bruise to prod at to make a man gasp, to drag that sound out from his bared throat. He just wasn’t there yet. But he wanted it.

“Again,” Simon barked. He was already set, bruised fists raised, chin tucked, eyes flat. “Don’t piss about this time.”

Asshole.

Simon eased him back in. Slow, teasing, mockingly gentle. His mercy was a trick, one he didn’t bother to play at for long. The rhythm he’d eased [Name] into quickly turned punishing the moment [Name] got hit footing. He pressed, relentless. Breath tore at [Name]’s lungs with each calculated strike and every precise move. Simon’s fists found every bruise, every soft spot. It sent static through his nerves. His muscles strained, throat raw with heavy gasps. And he just took it. He swallowed the blood, ate every hit, braced for more.

His arms were heavy, his legs trembling, but he stayed upright, stubborn. He needed to land a hit, just one. The urge gnawed at him, louder than the pain. It was almost desperate, the need to see Simon falter, even for a second.

Simon drew his arm back, telegraphing the punch. [Name] saw the opening—split-second, barely there. He ducked the hook, letting his own fist fly. His fist caught on Simon’s nose, knuckles on cartilage. Simon staggered, hand to his mask, blood blooming, seeping into the fabric. [Name] froze, shocked. He watched Simon stagger back as his knuckles began to ache. That pain felt a bit better this time.

Still, [Name]’s lips parted, a half-assed apology stuck in his throat.

A laugh rips from Simon’s throat, low and rough, almost proud. It cuts off whatever [Name] was failing to stutter out. 

“Cheeky bastard,” Simon mutters, blood staining the male skin of his hands. “That’s more like it, soldier.”

Simon didn’t hold back after that. Every dodge, every block, every feint was a challenge, a provocation. One that Simon answered with a counter, pushing harder, faster. [Name] could barely keep up, vision narrowing, breath shallow and ragged. The sound of fists on flesh echoed in the room, relentless, obscene. Simon bore down, all muscle and intent, and [Name] felt himself start to unravel, pulse skipping, nerves burning. Simon was a machine—predictable only in his brutality.

Then Simon swept his legs. All over again, [Name] dropped hard. He hit the mat once more, world spinning, and air gone. The thick taste of copper and spit coated his tongue, could feel it seep out of his gums. This time, he was too exhausted to feign indifference, a pained grunt pulling from his throat as Simon loomed above him, silhouette a sharp cut against the light. 

He propped himself up, elbows digging into the mat, body trembling from the aftershock. His lips parted as shaky breaths slowly raked through his body, skin slick with sweat, hot and flushed. Simon’s frame covered his own in shadow, eyes cold, pinning him in place like a blade to his skin. It was hungry. Possessive. [Name] didn’t make a move to get up, he just held that glare. Something settled into [Name]’s gut, warm and dizzying, shameful and exciting. [Name]’s response is a curl of his lips, defiant, teeth bared, mouth bloody and cracked. Something like a grin, maybe

“That was better.” It was barely a compliment, but even that was something special out of Simon. He crouched down low, to [Name]’s level. Simon’s hand found the curve of his jaw, rough and possessive, fingers pressing into the tender flesh there. He smeared the still-wet blood from his hand across [Name]’s cheek, thumb pressing into the split he’d given his lip. “Maybe the old man was right. Might be some worth to you after all.”

“Yeah?” [Name] shot back, voice dry with sarcasm. 

 “Careful.” Simon’s grip tightened. A warning. “Could make a weapon out of you. But your mouth is bigger than your brain.”

“That’s not nice.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Simon’s face twisted—half a sneer, half a grin.“Stick around, and I’ll fix that. Teach you how to act like a proper man.”

[Name] stared, pulse pounding against Simon’s palm. He turned [Name]’s head in his hand with a slight twist of his wrist. The touch was rough but precise, testy like he was checking the weight of a pistol, a rifle, searching for the potential in its heavy plastic, seeing how he could modify it, to mold it to his own needs, if it was worth the trouble. Simon’s eyes lingered a moment too long on [Name]’s lips, the blood, the sensitive, exposed flesh. He made his decision. 

“You broken?” Simon shoved his head away as he straightened back to his feet, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. 

“... No, sir.”

“Didn’t think so. Get up.”