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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 year ago

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deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.”

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.”

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?”

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod.

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut.

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

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motthe · 7 months ago

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just sassy Viktor fluff. need it. preferably before... EVERYTHING.

I'm inconsolable after that.

babe i’ve GOT you.

You weren’t sure how you knew. You were facing the chalkboard, mind gears turning as you attempted to solve the equation, but you knew, standing behind you and leaning against the desk, Viktor was wearing that smug grin. It did you in every single time.

Not tonight, you vowed, knuckle tapping against your chin in thought, dry chalk in hand. I can solve this without his help.

The soft tic tic tic in the room was a constant along with the wavering candlelight.

Your hand paused just before the knuckle met your skin. Finally, the numbers clicked. You smiled, stepping forward and raising the chalk tip to the board, confident.

“I wouldn’t do that,” came that sultry accent.

“I didn’t even write anything yet!” you scoffed, whirling to brandish the white stick at him as if it were something threatening.

“No, you haven’t, but I know you,” he said, eyes half massed. They lowered from your gaze for a moment before he grinned at you, amused by something. “You were going to use the tabular formula, yes?”

You crossed your arms, squinting at him. “…No.”

His hand stretched out, long fingers flexing. A piece of his hair fell over his eyebrow, disrupting your thought process (of which there was none, not anymore).

You looked away. “No. I can do this on my own.”

“You can,” he said. There was no teasing in his tone, only truth. “But allow me to, eh, cut a shorter path. It’ll save you time.

“Shortcut,” you corrected, pushing the chalk into his hand. His fingers were cold as they brushed yours. “You save me time, I’ll save your precious breath.”

“A good trade,” he joked, pulling his cane under his arm and sidling past you. “You are better with words than me, this is true.”

You took his spot against the desk as the scratch of chalk resounded, Viktor’s handwriting filling up the empty spam. Your lips twisted as you tried to pinpoint the formula he was using. When you recognized it, you sighed. It had been staring you right in the face.

“It can be solved your way,” he explained, tapping his answer as he turned back towards you, “but it will be a much longer process. Too complex. This is the ‘shortcut’ as it were.”

“Maybe I like complex,” you argued, back to crossing your arms as he chuckled.

“You do tend to keep to a more messy lifestyle, but complex? Eh, it’s reaching.”

“I’m not messy!” you puffed.

He placed the chalk down and came to rest against the desk beside you, that tic tic tic following the beat of your heart until his shoulder nudged yours as he grew closer. You closed your eyes as his hand grazed your cheek suddenly. When you opened them, chalk was smeared over his knuckles and that smug grin was back in full force.

“Messy,” he said, “see?”

“Messy is your lab,” you argued. “Have you fixed that hole in the wall since the last time I visited?”

“That ‘hole’ you speak of is proof that my invention worked.” He hummed, eyes slinking to the corner as he muttered, “It just worked a little too well.”

You laughed, bumping his shoulder with yours. The clock chimed right after, signaling the next hour was up.

“Ready for the next practice question?” he asked.

“Only if you let me answer it.” Your foreheads almost touched as you stared at him, eyes fierce. “Will you?”

“I promise not to help you,” he breathed, getting close enough that your noses grazed, “much.”

#arcane #arcane content #viktor #arcane viktor #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #masterlist #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane oneshot #arcane oneshots

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study-diaries · 3 months ago

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How To Self Study

This is coming from a girl who spent her fresher and sophomore year studying at home and yes, I got good grades. So, here are some tips that I followed for studying by myself without depending on any teachers.

So, let's get into it!

Gather and organise material

This is important, why? What are you going to study if you have absolutely no idea what your syllabus and study material is? By materials I mean:

Textbooks (If you have any)

Practice papers

Previous year papers

Extra reading materials/ Reference books

If you don't have any textbooks. Go through the topics that you have and gather resources from different sources.

Tip: Have at least 1 extra reading material for every subject/paper. It helps you understand some topics that are explained in a complex manner in textbooks which is almost all the time.

Don't depend on your teacher

Teachers are good. Seriously. But their attention will always be shifty. They have a lot of students to teach, from many other classes so if you depend only on your teachers for clarifying your doubts or being at the back of you to study then newsflash, its going to be hard. Rather, be your own teacher. Don't go "I'll ask this to her/him tomorrow after class" because that will be your answer every time you have even a small question which can easily be solved by a simple search. You're saving your time and theirs.

Tip: If you're someone like me who gets distracted when you take up your phone even for a second then write down all your questions in a paper and search them later after your study session.

Make notes

I usually say this because notes help you understand topics. There are many methods of taking notes. I usually don't follow any structure for note taking, I just read and write keywords under the topic name, linking a few things here and there.

Tip: Notes need not be aesthetic. Seriously. You can be as messy as you can.

Watch videos related to concepts

This helps and I know most already do this.

Tip: When you finish watching a topic, close the video and write down what you understood and then play the video again, fill in the gaps that you missed and watch it again.

Study in chunks

I always believe that whatever you do, you should do in chunks. Instead of doing one chapter, divide it. Into small bits. I'll tell you, you'll see the difference. I don't usually recommend Pomodoro since it doesn't work for me. I don't keep a time limit or a set number of breaks. I finish a chunk and if I am tired, I take a break otherwise i continue.

Tip: Self quiz yourself after each chunk and then take a break. Then after you finish the chunks for the whole chapter with the self quizzing then self quiz yourself randomly for every chunk. Here's an additional tip. Take 20 second breaks.

Period of deep work

This is not a new concept, i didn't realize i did this at first. Basically, when you start your work. You do nothing but work. Like nothing else. No phones. No snacking. No unwanted thoughts. Just nothing but what you have to do. That is to study.

Tip: It is difficult to implement this right away especially if you have a habit of it getting distracted easily so i just suggest => Start smaller. One topic with full concentration. It would usually take you 20 - 30 mins to get immersed in the work. 40 mins if it's something you don't like but once you get the momentum? An unbelievable achievement really. And then, change your environment.

Quality > Quantity && Consistency> Cramming

One hour of productive studying is better than nine hours of useless studying. I feel like it's better to study 20 mins everyday rather than the whole night before an exam. It just causes stress.

Tip: Start early. Your teacher is on chapter 5? And you still don't get chapter 1, it's fine. Start learning. Seriously, it's okay to be behind. You just have to stick. Do it everyday and you'll see results that is better than those who are just keeping up with the teacher.

Deadlines Are Mandatory

Have deadlines. There are a number of ways to do this. I'm a person who is really lazy and a weird soul who would never complete their to-do list for the day if they write it down. It would always be left unfinished. So i just keep a mental time limit and the thing i have to get done.

Tip: Overestimate your deadline. Like, let's say i have to complete around 15 lessons that week. I keep my deadline to around 25-30 and i eventually complete 15. It's about adapting to what works for you. Just change according to what works for you.

Practice questions / Previous Year Papers

I can never emphasize this enough. The best way to prepare for any exam is just do practice questions or previous year questions. You will learn a lot of things. The topics that are important or repeated. The topics that are never asked.

Tip: Grade yourself on each paper. Circle the questions in your textbook while you are studying and practicing. Then when you have to actually study then you can actually revise the topics a bit more thoroughly. If you want to know more, click here.

It's okay to be behind in class

During my first term in senior year, the whole class was around 5 chapters ahead for every test and exam while me? If they were on chapter 12, i was in chapter 4 or 5 but i understood the concepts and took my sweet time with each chapter. Because the more time you take for a chapter, the better it stays in your memory.

Tip: Here is where active recall comes handy. When you revise one chapter, take a 2 day break and study another subject and then go back to the chapter and answer the practice questions. If you're able to do them, great! If not, revise more and then look at it after 3-4 days. Repeat until you have no mistakes in your answers. This helps in long term retaining.

Make It Interesting

How do you study boring subjects? You adapt. Mind maps don't work for me. Neither does flash cards. So, i found something that did. Storytelling. Take your most boring subject, turn it into a story. Make it bearable.

Tip: Tie it somethings that you like. For example, business studies was the most boring one for me so obviously, every topic was a story for me. HR Theories and Processes? ==> An office romance story. Management Principles? ==> A fantasy story where a group goes on a quest. Make It interesting. Make it gripping. And let me tell you, this actually works because our minds grasp stories better than just normal theory jargon.

Difficult Topics Are Only Difficult Because You Think They Are

This was something that i learnt the harder way. Everything looked difficult at the beginning. Everything. But the most difficult paper was maths. Because i had no teacher. Literally. I was learning from YouTube, searching different sites for tips and tricks. I thought it was too difficult and then i was like "i have to do it anyway no matter how much i brood" so i started from scratch like 3 months before my exams.

Tip: A mind set change is everything. If you think it is easy. The topic will be more bearable. If you think it's tough, it's going to be more tough. If you want some more tips for complex topics, click here.

Hope this helps !!! :)

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wtf-scientific-papers · 4 months ago

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[The Idiot's Guide to Effective Population Size

This is a reference manual for the elegant, yet hideously complex concept of effective population size (Ne), inspired by a classic, self-published manual of automotive repair ‘for the compleat idiot’. The Guide is timely, given the recent Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, where 196 Parties committed to tracking genetic diversity—and estimating Ne—for all species. Ne is a human construct, but a useful one that allows us to capture diverse aspects of an organism's biology in a single number. The Guide collates in one location factual information about effective population size, with a focus on topics of practical relevance to scientists and managers studying real populations; it covers definition, computation and estimation of effective size, both demographically and genetically. As appropriate, the reader is directed to other primary sources for more details. A ‘Don't Do These Things’ section lists several ill-advised approaches to dealing with Ne, and an Appendix provides useful tools and practical suggestions for interested users. A special section considers both possibilities and challenges presented by the genomics revolution. Availability of vast numbers of genetic markers increases precision, but less than some might think, and simultaneously introduces new challenges involving filtering and bioinformatics processing. As annotated genomes become more common for non-model species, opportunities are opened to address qualitatively different questions, including reconstructing historical changes in Ne through time.]

Waples (2025)

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mariasont · 3 months ago

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theory and practice

a teasing conversation ensues when you boldly suggest becoming rossi’s fourth wife.

pairing: dave rossi x reader warnings: fem!reader, flirty reader, flirty rossi, power dynamics perhaps? rossi thinking of moral complexities of a relationship etc etc, probably an age gap? it's not explicitly mentioned but home boy is old as dirt prompt: here wc: 0.6k

Rossi tries to focus on the article in front of him, but he can practically feel your eyes burning holes in his cheek. He almost snorts. You’re not even subtle about it. He wonders idly, if you’ve blinked yet.

“You know, if you stare any harder, you’re going to hurt yourself, bella. What exactly do you need from me?”

You tip your floppy head back slightly, resting your chin on your hand and giving him a blatantly flirtatious once-over. “Tell me honestly. Do I have what it takes to be Mrs. Rossi number four, or should I keep working on it?”

At this point, Rossi doesn’t even blink. You’ve made it somewhat of your personal mission to charm him into an early grave ever since day one at the BAU. Your methods are disarmingly cunning, subtle enough to pass unnoticed by less discerning observers, yet transparent to him in their seductive intent.

There was that memorably orchestrated coffee delivery — leaning forward with an excessive grace, making sure his peripheral vision had an unobstructed view down your blouse. Or the occasion you casually suggested a shared hotel room on a stakeout, ostensibly to save departmental funds.

Honestly, your relentless pursuit of his accelerated cardiovascular decline would almost be flattering — if it weren’t so damn effective.

Rossi gives you a slow, contemplative look, barely masking the amusement tugging at his lips. “Well, I have to warn you it’s a notoriously rigorous screening process. Think multiple rounds of very thorough interviews, background checks, and extensive compatibility testing. You might want to clear your schedule.”

Adjusting your position to sit up straighter, your arms press your chest together, the angle leaving little to his imagination. Rossi’s eyes are thankfully hidden, but he knows you know what he’s looking at.

“I’m fully committed, Rossi. Hit me with your best shot. I promise, I can handle it.”

Rossi snorts softly, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. The sports section can wait — something he rarely admits, but this is far more interesting.

He gives you his undivided attention, leaning back comfortably.

“Alright. First question. Exactly how many FBI dress-code violations do you intend to commit on a daily basis?”

“Well, how many does it take before you feel obligated to reprimand me personally? I’ll aim for one more than that.”

He exhales slowly. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“You have no idea. But feel free to find out.” Your grin widens as you trail a fingertip casually along the rim of your sunglasses. “I’m even more ambitious up close.”

He allows himself a momentary consideration of the tantalizing hypothetical you’ve so generously presented. He wonders how you’d truly respond if, just once, he abandoned his better judgment and actually called your bluff.

You’re lucky, really, that he’s a man who still maintains a stubborn adherence to decency. That years spent navigating the ethical complexities of this job have given him ample reason to value his own carefully upheld morals.

Without said deeply embedded moral compass, however, he’s rather certain neither one of you would emerge unscathed.

“As enticing as I find your enthusiasm, perhaps its best to keep your ambitions strictly theoretical. For now.”

Rossi barely has time to appreciate the fluid grace with which you rise from your lounge chair before you lean in close, eyes level with his own. His breath stills subtly as your lips touch his cheek.

“Every great idea begins as just a theory,” you say. “Remember that.”

He watches with reluctant open approval as you walk back toward the house. Settling back into his chair, Rossi resigns himself to the knowledge that his professional and personal resolve will continue to be rigorously tested.

Perhaps retirement would have been a safer choice. Still, he allows himself a moment of indulgent appreciation as you disappear inside. After all, even the strongest moral fortitude deserves a brief lapse into harmless admiration now and again.

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vibeswithdivs · 18 days ago

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three hours! - OP81

You didn’t plan on introducing Oscar to Bollywood that night.

Really, you didn’t.

It started innocently: a grey sky, the hum of lazy rain, and the sheer novelty of both of you being home at the same time during a break in the season. The two of you had declared it a “no-F1” day — no telemetry data, no sim practice, no McLaren group chats, and definitely no talk of brake balance. Just snacks, cuddles, and “whatever movie you want, love.”

You should’ve known what that meant.

You were already halfway through prepping your popcorn when Oscar leaned into the kitchen with a mischievous smile.

“So,” he said, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Do I finally get to see what all the dramatic musical fuss is about?”

You paused, spice tin in one hand, your eyes narrowing. “You mean Bollywood?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But like… a real one. Not just clips you send me at 2 a.m. of that Shah guy running through the rain yelling someone’s name.”

“Shah guy?!” you gasped, spinning to face him. “Oscar James Piastri! That’s Shah Rukh Khan. The king. The legend. The—”

He took a slow step back, grinning. “And I’ve summoned the demon.”

You made him sit through a full trailer lineup before you even picked the film. Each one was followed by his increasingly dramatic reactions:

“Wait, is this a mafia film or a romance?”

“Is he actually crying because she made tea for someone else?”

“Was that a dream sequence in a hospital corridor?”

After several deeply emotional decisions — and a coin toss — you finally settled on Kal Ho Naa Ho. You knew it was the one. Love triangle. Soul-wrenching twist. SRK at his absolute, dimpled peak.

Oscar flopped on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and a suspicious look on his face. “Three hours?”

You kissed the top of his head. “Worth every minute.”

The movie began. And slowly, it began to happen.

At first, Oscar looked skeptical. You’d warned him about the singing, but that didn’t stop him from blinking at the first burst of a full-on street number like it was an ambush.

“Wait—why is everyone dancing in sync? Do they all know this choreo? Are they possessed?”

You giggled. “It’s called Bollywood logic, babe. Just go with it.”

He shot you a look. “I thought Formula 1 had complex rules.”

But you caught the smirk he tried to hide when SRK entered in slow motion, wind in his hair, sunglasses glinting like destiny had just walked into a café.

“You’re smiling,” you said, nudging his shoulder.

“I’m not,” he replied, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’m… just appreciating cinematography.”

By the first hour mark, Oscar was in deep.

He leaned forward during every café scene, popcorn long forgotten. He asked an unreasonable number of questions:

“So she hates him, but she’ll obviously fall for him, right?”

“The guy with the guitar—he’s too nice. That’s a red flag.”

“Why is the grandma always yelling? I like her.”

He read every subtitle with religious focus, mouthing some of the Hindi words under his breath with comical pronunciation.

“Tum theek ho?” he whispered seriously at one point.

You raised an eyebrow. “You just asked if I’m okay.”

He nodded proudly. “Character immersion.”

You snorted into your chai.

The emotional turning point hit him like DRS through Eau Rouge.

The moment Aman starts coughing more frequently, a frown appeared between Oscar’s brows. When Aman hides his medical file, Oscar sat up straighter. And when the real twist unfurled — the truth of Aman’s terminal illness — Oscar dropped the popcorn bowl in slow motion.

It clattered on the carpet, kernels flying everywhere. He didn’t even flinch.

“Wait… WHAT?!” His voice cracked. “He’s DYING?”

You placed a hand on his thigh, both in comfort and to stop yourself from laughing. “Yes.”

“And he’s been matchmaking them this whole time?” he asked, voice raising with each word. “HE’S SACRIFICING HIMSELF FOR HER HAPPINESS?”

You gave him a pitying nod. “Shah Rukh doesn’t do half-measures.”

Oscar turned back to the screen like it had personally betrayed him. His hand clutched your arm now. “This is a violation. I didn’t sign up to feel this much today.”

“Oh no,” you whispered. “He’s bonded.”

By the end, Oscar was gone.

Silent. Wide-eyed. Face slightly crumpled.

As Aman made his final monologue — that devastating mix of warmth, love, and goodbye — Oscar looked as though he’d just been told he’d DNFed in the last lap of Monaco.

He made a strange little noise when the final funeral shot faded to white.

You turned to him slowly, trying not to giggle. “You okay there?”

He turned to you, tear tracks on his cheeks, voice hoarse. “I feel like I aged ten years.”

You handed him a tissue. “Congratulations. You’re now a certified Bollywood fan.”

He blinked, dazed. “How do people watch this more than once? How do you survive this?”

You curled into his side, smug and cozy. “You build emotional resilience. And chai. Lots of chai.”

He glanced down at you, a bit of awe in his expression. “You’ve really been watching these your whole life?”

You nodded. “I grew up with them. They’re part of my soul.”

He wiped at his face, still sniffling. “I’m starting to think your soul is made of heartbreak and really good music.”

You beamed. “Exactly.”

Later that night, Oscar came up behind you while you were brushing your teeth, arms slipping around your waist.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice serious.

You raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Okay…?”

“That song.” He pointed a finger like he was accusing the toothpaste. “The one in the wedding scene.”

You blinked. “Maahi Ve?”

“Yeah. That’s been stuck in my head for two hours,” he said. “It’s haunting me. Why do I like it so much?!”

You giggled. “Welcome to your villain origin story.”

He squinted at you. “Do people… dance to it?”

You blinked back at him. “Yes?”

“Like at weddings?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes?”

His lips twitched. “Teach me.”

You stared at him. “Now?”

He folded his arms, competitive fire in his eyes. “I learned Monaco’s sector three layout in twenty minutes. I can learn a Bollywood hook step.”

You threw your head back laughing. “Oscar Piastri, are you seriously asking for a Bollywood dance lesson at midnight?”

He grinned. “If I’m going down this rabbit hole, I’m going all in.”

And you did. Right there in your pajamas, in the middle of the living room, you taught a Formula 1 driver the basics of a Bollywood wedding dance. He was stiff, missed most of the beats, and almost knocked over a lamp with his elbow.

But when he got it right and you high-fived him with pure joy, he smiled so wide it rivaled the actual Maahi Ve sequence.

As the clock ticked past 2 a.m., you were both collapsed on the sofa again, tangled in blankets, hearts full.

Oscar turned to you, head on your shoulder. “You know…”

“Mmm?”

“I didn’t think I’d like it. I thought it would be cheesy and over-the-top.”

You waited.

He looked up at you, quiet and honest. “But it was… real. Like, so real. The kind of story that actually stays with you.”

You kissed his forehead gently. “That’s Bollywood. It sneaks up on you.”

He nodded. “Okay. One condition.”

“What?”

“You pick the next one,” he said, already opening the Bollywood playlist on your TV. “But I want dancing. More dancing.”

You laughed, heart full. “Deal. For you, maybe even Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge next.”

He raised a hand solemnly. “As long as I don’t have to wear tight white pants.”

“No promises,” you smirked.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x you #mclaren #lando norris #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #bollywood #desi tumblr

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t1red-twilight · 5 months ago

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Hey! I was wondering if youre open to writing a chubby or plus size reader? If so would you be willing to do a peter parker or steve harrington one with the fluff prompt 'can i borrow your sweater' but its the readers sweater cause theyre a little bigger then them yk? Sorry if this makes you uncomfy, you can ignore it i was just curious :) ty!

can i borrow your sweater?

content/warnings: gn!reader, chubby/plus size!reader, fluff, clingy peter</3

notes: thank you for requesting! this is such a cute idea, and also writing for a chubbier reader was so fun. i myself am midsize and i loved writing this<3

word count: 1.3k

masterlist p. parker masterlist

winter in new york had come early this year. this had not been a problem for you, as you thrived in the cold. most of the clothes that you owned were sweaters.

also, as of late your rent had gone up and you couldn’t afford to pay it. so, your best friend peter offered to let you move in and you could split his rent. after some back and forth, and peter assuring you it’d be no big deal, you moved in.

there were two issues, and one that you had not been informed of. peter’s apartment complex had a habit of the heat going out, and the landlord seemed to not care when anyone would complain about it.

the other problem was that you possibly, maybe, perhaps, most likely, had a crush on peter. something about his soft voice and his gentle hands enthralled you. or perhaps it was his penchant for justice and standing up for what he believed in. either way, the butterflies that ravaged your stomach when he entered a room only grew in size when you moved in.

luckily, regarding problem number 1, you were set. a tee shirt plus a sweater or two and you were good to go. somewhere in your boxes was your heated blanket, but presently you couldn’t find it in you to loot around in your things just yet.

currently, you were wearing two sweaters and sitting underneath one of peter’s throw blankets on the couch, watching tv. out of the corner of your eye you saw peter exit his room and enter the living room.

the first thing that you noticed was how bare he was considering the current circumstances. the heat had gone out in the apartment again, and there was a storm coming in. just your luck, however, talking to or messaging the landlord was fruitless as he never responded over weekends.

seeing as all you had was a tiny space heater, peter not stocking up and drowning himself in a sweater or two was weird. when he sat down you gave him a weird look. “aren’t you cold?” you asked.

peter immediately shook his head, a little too enthusiastically. “do you want some blanket?” you followed up. this time he paused, and then nodded affirmatively. you held up the side of the blanket and he scooted closer to you. it seemed as if the hum of the television went silent as he curled into you.

peter’s chin rested on top of your shoulder and the rest of his body pressed up against and into your side. every now and then he would nestle in closer, almost like a dog or a cat settling in for the night.

then you felt it: shivering. despite staring your body heat and a blanket, peter began to shiver. “do you want to go get a sweater or a hoodie or something? you’re practically vibrating, pete,” you said. your voice was lowered as he was so close to you.

peter nodded before answering, “yeah,” he paused. “but all mine are dirty right now.” you turned your head to look at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“you don’t have any?”

at your question, he shook his head “no.” you had unpacked most of your wardrobe. he could definitely wear one of yours. “do you want to wear one of mine?”

his head turned to look at you. his soft brown eyes looked almost pleading. “yes,” he said curtly. following his answer, you stood to go and grab one from your room. just as you were placing the blanket back down to cover peter, he stopped you.

“no, i want that one,” he said, pointing at the outwardmost purple sweater that you were wearing. huh? your face scrunched up in confusion. why would he want this one? “it’ll be warm already cause you’ve been wearing it.” his voice dropped a couple decibels and his eyes darted away a few times.

you slid the sweater off and became aware that your layers had risen slightly to show the expanse of your belly. quickly, you jerked your shirt and the remaining sweater back down. you handed the purple knit sweater over to peter.

you were aware of your size, and that in some places you were bigger than peter. sometimes you were more aware of it than others. needless to say, your sweater should have no problem fitting him.

when he put it on, he looked so very snug. he pulled the sleeves of the sweater over his hands and the neckline up to his chin. oddly enough, peter’s cozy appearance made you feel almost territorial. there he was, your best friend, wearing your clothes. perhaps you’d have to find a way to get him to do this again; but maybe that was just being selfish.

it hit you that you were staring him down when his hand wrapped itself around your wrist and tugged you back towards him on the couch. this time he pulled the blanket up to allow you to crawl underneath it. as quickly as he could, he burrowed in close to you just as he had before.

sure, the lack of your second sweater made the chill a little more obvious, but frankly, you couldn’t really feel it. a flustered heat rose to your cheeks and encompassed your body.

you tried with all your might to go back to watching the show that was playing, but you couldn’t focus. after all, your best friend (who you weren’t really sure how you felt about) was huddled up close to you, while wearing your clothes. needless to say, you were beyond distracted.

peter’s breath brushed against your face, and you could smell the fresh scent of the cologne or aftershave he had on.

after an agonizing thirty-ish minutes, peter spoke. “i think it’s time for bed,” he mumbled.

you hummed in affirmation, trying to find the strength to speak without your voice breaking. “yeah,” was all you managed to get out. the two of you stayed sitting for a couple more moments before you stood up. your back was stiff and your cheeks were still hot. you briefly turned to wave at him, and gave a strangled, “good night, peter.”

“wait!” he called. you stopped mid-step to look back at him. he was standing, both hands held out. “it’s going to be a cold night,” he stated. you nodded. duh. “you’re going to get really cold,” he continued. you weren’t really sure if you were the one to be worried about, to be honest.

peter took two steps toward you. “i’m not sure you should really be worried about that,” you vocalized. “seeing as you needed my sweater just now.”

“yes!” his voice was slightly louder. “i’m going to get really cold.” your eyebrows scrunched, unsure of what he was getting at. “that’s why i think you should sleep in my room tonight. to, uh-” he swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “to share body heat.”

at this moment you could hear your heart in your ears. your mouth was slightly agape, but you closed it quickly. all you could do was nod and let peter lead you to his room.

you were familiar with his room and all the trinkets that he had inside of it. peter pulled back the sheets and duvet on one side before walking around to the other side and getting in. as casually as possible you got in too. this was perfectly normal! best friends totally did stuff like this all the time. this was no big deal.

before you could even get a grip on what your racing mind was thinking, peter was right next to you, scooting in again. you took a deep breath and decided that if you were going to share a bed with him, you might as well do it on your own terms. nerves, or not.

you mimicked his action and inched in towards him, and curled an arm around his waist. he followed, and pulled your body in to his. you could hear his steady heartbeat from the angle you were at.

then, you saw from over his shoulder a drawer that sat opened just a little. what was in it made your smitten heart beat a little harder with infatuation. in the drawer sat peter’s own collection of sweaters. there they sat, and they were clean.

#lee’s writing <3 #plus size!reader #chubby!reader #peter parker fluff #andrew garfield!peter x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #the amazing spider man #peter parker x reader #peter parker #x reader #fluff

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stump-not-found · 10 days ago

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how do u get the motivation to write? i have an idea that's been floating around for months but i've never been able to actually sit down and write it. even when i do manage to write i don't get much farther than like 2-10 paragraphs before i go " this is garbage i'll finish it later " and then never come back to it. you have several hundred thousands of words. how

this is an interesting question, one that's gonna have several different answers because it's very personal to each person . please treat this as a very incomplete datapoint because i could ramble about a bunch of different approaches

I'm gonna make an initial point that I'm in my thirties; I'm extremely used to tedium, and I find that's the number one blocker to folks. boredom is okay . you don't have to love everything you make . it's just important that you make anything at all

im also extremely opinionated. almost everything i write is because i engaged with some other art that pissed me off but i don't want to be a cunt about it . so i write 100k words of weird smut instead

more thoughts under the cut!

In terms of specific checks I'd ask folks struggling with art, i'll start with a couple of things:

are your physical needs being met?

If you find yourself struggling to write, check in with yourself and If you're tired, or hungry, or haven't gone for a walk, or haven't had fun/socialized in a while. You're a physical being and as irritating as that can be sometimes, you can't push past these things. Take care of your body!

Do you have community?

Inspiration for me is primarily driven out of a joy of talking and sharing ideas with others. Find and cultivate relationships with people purposefully; this is one of the hardest things for me, i had to go to therapy to even be able to even talk to people, but having people to share ideas with and collaborate with is the number one motivator in my life. its really, really worth it

Are your outcomes clear?

Not every story can or should be super long, or complex. Sometimes, I write something just for the sake of finishing something, specifically to train my brain in getting comfortable with starting and finishing something. Other times I write something to practice a specific technique. Other times? It's just to indulge, quality be damned -- sometimes you just got to go hog wild

Are you giving yourself permission to learn?

This is the most important to me. Making art isn't about being good at something; it's just something humans do. It's good for you. It's good to make shit that's bad, and to recognize that's part of the joy! Learning to be a novice is a genuine skill, and it feels terrible at first, but it gets easier to more you let yourself accept that you've got a lifetime to learn, and that's a wonderful thing

There's probably a lot more i could list off but your physical needs, community, clear outcomes, and learning mindset are the concepts that seem the most generally applicable.

for things more specific to me and my specific quirks as a human, i guess the only other thing I can mention is I write an abnormal amount of words per day, because I'm very comfortable with letting myself write shit words . like on average im pulling 2k words a day -- this is weird . doctors hate me . doctors also crave me .

this is probably because i'm an insane pervert . but also i practice not judging a thing that doesn't exist yet, and do a stream of consciousness approach when i write -- which is to say, I'll do some basic pre-planning of a scene, but a lot of times its just letting my thoughts flow freely without censorship . i'm already so visually minded because i've been writing comics & scripts for over a decade at this point, so it's pretty easy for me to picture dynamic scenes, and at that point i can just literally write out the actions im picturing

I do not edit, I do not pause, I just let the words in my head flow and have faith that it will be good . i'm an extremely indulgent writer and encourage everyone else to be as well . i'm dog shit at grammar and make a lot of mistakes . i thankfully have wonderful friends who help me learn and grow in the areas i am weak in

when you just let yourself write what the fuck ever, sometimes you get some really dope shit out of it. Other times you write 4k words of dogshit that you gotta delete. Either way, I have fun, I learn something about my story, and I get a little bit better at trusting myself to make something i enjoy reading

be selfish in art . but also be empathetic, and curious ! write shit you hate . write shit you love . write shit that only you and one other freak are gonna enjoy . just be weird about it i guess is the main thing .

OH!!! OH ONE FINAL THING SORRY: listen to music and hallucinate and pace in circles and spend hours just rotating images in your head to music . literally my number one thing for coming up for shit that rocks . go listen to some hatsune miku right the fuck now . i know not everyone can visualize things but pacing around listening to music is such a big part of the writing process for me please go kneel before hatsune miku and kiss her on the ring

#i'd also say if you're first learning a skill #train yourself to know when and how to be critical . you should avoid being overly critical #you deserve praise and support . you deserve to praise and support yourself #the time for honing and improving your craft is when you've already got a baseline level of confidence #avoid trimming back leaves before you've even gotten the chance to bloom . or something like that #stump asks #while you're at it learn various types of chess . it's fun #train your brain in all sorts of way #its good 4 u #meat computer loves to learn new things yay #be curious forever and always <3

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rebeccathenaturalist · 11 days ago

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On the Arrogance of Pioneers

Last month I was fortunate enough to free up a few days on my calendar and used the time to escape to the Blue Mountains. It’s an ecoregion that I am incredibly fond of, and it had been a few years since I had spent time there. I made time to visit the Nez Perce Wallowa Homeland in Wallowa, OR. This 320 acre portion of the Wallowa Valley is a miniscule fraction of the traditional home of the Wallowa band of the Nimíipuu (Nez Perce), and was purchased by the Wallowa Band Nez Perce Trail Interpretive Center, Inc. with help from a variety of public and private grants. The Wallowa Band have graciously made this place available to the public from dawn until dusk, and it features a gorgeous four mile loop trail as well as waterfront land along the Wallowa River.

I arrived pretty late in the day, and it was quite warm, so I only made it up the switchbacks on the ridge up to the lookout gazebo. Still, the view was stunning, and afforded an incredible view of a large portion of the valley and the mountains that create its western border. I can absolutely understand how Hinmatóowyalahtq̓it (Chief Joseph) and his people would have been heartbroken to be forced away from this place that had been home for so very long, and where their ancestors were buried.

As I drove west on 82 back to my hotel, I passed by several ranches that fenced in everything from quarter horses to longhorn cattle. Signs proclaimed what year some of these ranches were founded; one in particular bragged that it had been around since 1884--just seven years after the Nez Perce War in which the Wallowa band had been violently removed from the valley. Hinmatóowyalahtq̓it himself died of heartbreak in exile twenty years after that ranch was founded on thousands of acres stolen from his people.

What thoughts did this lead to? Find out under the cut.

I spent the rest of the drive thinking about these ranches, and how they reminded me of my travels through the Midwest on my twice-a-year peregrinations back home to the Missouri Ozarks. The highways throughout the Great Plains and beyond are dotted with little museums preserving and elevating the history of the largely white American settlers who flooded into lands west of the Mississippi through the middle of the 19th century. While in recent years some have begun highlighting the indigenous cultures displaced by this colonization, there remains a frequent emphasis on "the pioneer spirit" and the hardships settlers faced in "taming the wilderness" with plows, guns, and livestock.

John Gast's famous painting "American Progress" depicting Manifest Destiny as a giant white woman leading settlers and farmers into a sunlit American West, while in the darkened margins indigenous people, their horses, and wild animals flee before "progress".

But what about the hardships faced by the many thousands of indigenous people forced to leave their homes and settle in reservations hundreds or even thousands of miles away? At least the pioneers chose to go west and take over the land; the indigenous people didn't have a choice, and most folks don't take the time to compare and contrast these two migrations. That goes against the dominant narrative. Manifest Destiny proclaimed that American settlers must spread across the width of the continent, from sea to shining sea, and turn it into farmland. By the time these settlers arrived, the indigenous people had already been reduced greatly in number by European diseases, and those who remained were not seen as properly using the land*.

And yet--and yet--no one questions whether things could have been done differently. In what is now Oregon, the various tribes lived within a complex trade and social network with etiquette and shared cultural practices that helped to keep the peace and respect each other's lands when visiting or passing through. When the first white traders arrived, indigenous communities often folded them into these networks, and traders who respected the boundaries were welcomed. This wasn't unique to the Pacific Northwest, either.

What if this had remained the status quo? What if, instead of Europeans and then the U.S. government waging war on Native Americans and forcing them off their land, we had instead worked toward coexistence with the people who had already been here for thousands of years? What if we had managed the same accomplishments we have, in everything from medicine to transportation, but with collaboration with indigenous people rather than domination? We could have gone in with diplomacy, and instead decided to take the easier scorched earth approach in pursuit of profit and power.

No, we can't change the past. But we can look at the present and plan for a better future. That requires us to look at the stories we tell about how the West was "won", and ask why we cling so hard to the narrative of the "good" pioneers, and the Indians who just got in the way, or who supposedly attacked settlers for no good reason. Every time we dig our heels in and insist that "Well, we won and they lost and that's just how it is" or "They weren't even using the land, and it's been in my family for seven generations and we made that ranch what it is", we cut off the opportunity to expand on those narratives and get the whole story. The defensiveness keeps people from having to ask difficult questions and find themselves with uncomfortable answers.

But then, who wants to be made out to be the bad guy, especially when American exceptionalism has told us for generations that we are the best, the greatest, and we can do no wrong? Once you put a crack in that façade, the whole structure on which the pioneer narrative was built starts to crumble. That's scary for people who have known nothing else, and it's not surprising when people who benefit from owning thousands of acres of stolen indigenous land wrap their arms and legs around the justifications for that theft.

It takes real courage to question generations of assumptions and suppressed history while listening and reading to indigenous narratives that go counter to what you were taught. It is brave indeed to look at your current situation--and the history behind it--without getting bogged down in kneejerk defensive reactions. And it is real strength to not then wallow in so much guilt that you never leave the pity party, but instead search for solutions.

I am certainly not an expert in this. I'm one American of assorted European genetic strains, raised in the Midwest surrounded by small towns and cattle farms but long since ensconced in the Pacific Northwest, trying to figure out how to be a better part of the community. And not just the human community, either, because this discussion about what we did to indigenous people for centuries also extends to our behavior toward other living beings, too. But I do know it starts with at least thinking about and questioning the narratives we've been taught in school, in popular culture, and in how our government has treated indigenous people throughout its entire almost 250 year history. If you're like me, consider this an invitation to do the same.

*Just because indigenous communities in the West weren't practicing intensive agriculture in the American sense doesn't mean they weren't farming. Plants might be spread to new places, controlled burns were used to keep prairies and meadows open, and many cultures relied on seasonal migrations to different parts of their land depending on food availability. Extensive trade networks across the continent meant that extra food often found its way far from its land of origin; preserved camas from the Willamette Valley might ultimately be traded for a bison hide in what is now Colorado.

Much of my work was developed on unceded Chinook land on the Long Beach Peninsula in southwest Washington. To help the Chinook Indian Nation regain their federal recognition, and gain access to resources like treaty rights and healthcare, there are some simple but effective ways anyone can help at ChinookJustice.org.

#indigenous people #indigenous rights #colonization #imperialism #Manifest Destiny #Nez perce #PNW #Pacific Northwest #Oregon #Blue Mountains #Native Americans #nature #pioneers #homesteading #history #American history #US History #Land Back

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mrchiipchrome · 11 months ago

Text

Care For Me, I Know You Care For Me

W.C. - 6.1 k

Back with another chapter :()

———————————————

“I’m going to a party, you want to come with?” Looking up at the older girl through heavy lidded eyes, her party dress clinging tight to her body, you can barely even imagine yourself at another party, especially with classes having started the week prior.

A multitude of open books surround you, all displaying different types of equations and explanations of increasingly complex mathematical concepts. You’d already been at it for an hour, and still you had only solved two or three questions.

It was worse than having to run suicides for an hour straight, pure brutality.

“Do I have a choice?” With your fingers buried deep in your hair and your lips turned down in a frown, Em looks you over for a moment before deciding on her answer, shaking her head softly, uncharacteristically.

“I’m really sorry, I've just got so much work already.” Looking back down at the half solved problem, you sigh loudly before writing out another part of the equation, pulling your calculator closer to the edge of the table, the numbered buttons clicking softly under your fingertips.

Going unnoticed by you, Em’s shoes thud against the hardwood floor as she makes her way over to where you're sitting at the kitchen table, placed up against the almost kitchen island looking structure that’s there instead of a full wall to make the space look more open, her hands taking hold of the sides of your face resulting in your cheeks being smushed together when she makes you look up at her.

"You're not sorry, you hate going to parties.” As her sentence comes to an end, she presses a kiss to your forehead before she turns around to leave your apartment, looking back at you to blow you a kiss when she sees you putting your middle finger up at her through the hallway mirror.

But alas, as the door clicks shut behind the older woman, you have to go back to doing the boring work you’d been given by your math teacher, no longer a distraction there for you to blame for not having full focus.

Em was always a nice distraction for you when the work piled up and your usual workaholic self sat for hours upon hours in front of a multitude of books and screens.

At the same time, it was infuriating when she interrupted at the worst times like when you were in the middle of a question or when she inevitably would ask you to do her assignments for her, all while probably eating your food. The girl really is in a league of her own at times.

Rolling your eyes at the thought, it doesn’t take long for you to remove all distractions from your surroundings, putting your phone on do not disturb before burying your head in your work once more, numbers and equations floating together in your mind like they have no substance.

There's no preventing the drooping of your eyelids about 3 hours after Em initially asked you if you wanted to party, and there’s even less you can do about the way the cool pages of your book feel against your hot cheek, the combination of boredom and sleepiness from the late hour mixing together and creating a very tired striker.

It’s only a few hours later when you’re drooling over the written out equations on your paper that you startle awake, a loud ringing coming from the phone placed not too far away from your head, your body jumpstarting way too quickly for your mind to comprehend.

Slapping around for your phone, your fingers grip the cool metal with surprising ease, swiping blindly at the accept button, not even looking at the caller id.

“Y/l/n Manufacturing, how can I help you?” The response is automated, coming out your mouth like it had been practiced a million times before, sometimes your home phone would ring and you’d pick it up before one of your nanny’s could, leaving your childish voice to sound through the speaker, ready to tackle their problems with practiced efficiency only your parents could rival. Sure little helper you were.

There’s a second filled to the brim with an awkward type of silence before sweet giggling fills your ear, leaving you to pull away from the phone for a quick second, looking at the caller id.

‘Emma Whitmore Harvard’ can be seen across the top of your screen, but even though the voice was familiar, it wasn’t Em. That much you knew.

Who could possibly have her phone at this hour? Raising your phone back up to your ear, you don’t bother to lift your head from the papers now sticking uncomfortably to your face, only waiting for the person on the other end to stop giggling and start talking.

“Hey Y/n/n, why so formal? We’re friends right?” Oh. Of course Nika would be the one to call you…from Em’s phone?

“Nika? Why do you have Emma’s phone?” She giggles once again, this time at your sleepy confusion and at the sound of you peeling the paper off your cheek with a small groan, red marks engraved into your skin, not that she could see that.

“Well she took me to the party you didn’t want to go to, obviously she forgot that she had to drive home and we’re stuck here, drunk.” She explains carefully, choosing her words as consciously as she can, the slur of her words indicating that she in fact was a little more than tipsy.

Sighing, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue, already getting up from the chair that’s made your butt numb after sitting on it for hours upon hours.

“You want to bring you both back here?” She hums in response, agreeing quickly, and you can imagine the sly smile on her lips on the other end of the phone. “Alright, I’ll be there in an hour, try to not get yourself in trouble.” With that you hang up on her, sighing once more before making your way to the hall, not even paying your outfit any mind as you slip your beat up sneakers on.

Plucking your car keys off the hook they’re hung on, you’re out the door in record time with your phone in one hand and your keys in the other. Rubbing your eyes as you stand in the elevator, you can only imagine the trouble a drunk Nika and an even drunker Em have gotten into during the evening without you there to calm them down.

You yawn as the ding of the elevator doors indicate their opening, stepping out into the colder air of the entrance in the apartment building, shivering ever so slightly.

Another yawn leaves your mouth as you walk across the parking lot towards the garage that you keep your precious car in, and you slap yourself a few times to wake up a little bit more.

After opening the garage door to see your absolute beauty of a car, it only takes a few seconds for you to unlock the doors and slip into the warmth that it provided, the special made seats infinitely better than any wooden chair you could ever purchase for your kitchen.

Pushing your key into the ignition, you stop only for a moment or two to close your eyes tightly, feeling the sleepiness push at the back of your eyes, eyelids heavy even whilst they’re closed. But alas, you were a woman on a mission, to rescue your two princesses from the monstrosity that is a frat party.

So you pull up the ‘Find My’ app on your phone, clicking on the little icon with Em’s face beside it, showing off her location for you, and as you typed the location in the search bar of the ‘Maps’ app there’s nothing stopping you from letting out that little laugh that was reserved for ridiculous situations like this.

Who other than Emma Whitmore would forget to stay sober so that she could drive home? A real Em thing to do you suppose.

Either way, you turn the car on and pull out of the garage, clicking on the little button on your keys to make the door close behind the back of the car automatically.

Your phone is placed on the dashboard, ready to tell you the instructions to find the location you desire, and you reach out to turn the radio on, a ballad from ages ago floating out of the almost outdated speakers on low volume, covering the piercing silence covering every surface and crevice of your car.

Tapping along to the subtle beat of the song, the empty roads of the early morning almost feel comforting, streetlights lighting up the inside of your car for a second before it’s the next one’s turn, various trees littering the edges of the roads. They’re never grouped together, only single trees in a line, a style choice.

The voice of the AI giving you the instructions quiets down when you’re only a few blocks away from the house that Em’s phone had been in only an hour before, and you’re surprised at how quickly time had passed as you were driving, an hour feeling closer to 20 minutes than an hour.

But it’s only when you start to recognise the clusters of trees and the street signs that you turn off the directions, not needing them to navigate you anymore.

Parking your car a bit away from the frat, once again not wanting it to be stolen by some drunken frat boys, you take your keys out of the ignition and exit the car, locking it quickly before putting the keys in your pocket where they would be safe.

Leaning slightly against the hood of your car, you send a quick text off to Em, well Nika, saying that you’re there and that they should come out to meet you.

When your phone vibrates in your grip you let a small smile creep up on your face, a small ‘come find us’ coming through, the banner covering the bottom of your screensaver, a photo of you with your Arsenal teammates on your last day before leaving for America.

Trudging up the small hill, the thumping music spilling out from the large white house makes a sarcastic smile appear on your face, hands shoved into the pockets of your pajama pants.

More than a few people turn their heads to look at you weirdly but you don't pay them any mind, ready to bring both the older women home so that you could finally finish your homework and then go to bed.

Entering the open door, you’re immediately met with the stench of alcohol and sweat and the sight of various men pushing up against anything with a beating heart, legs and long hair.

Scanning the room, you look for the tall brunette and the shorter blonde, the two of them seemingly being able to keep entirely hidden from your wandering eyes despite their vertically advantaged frames.

Dragging the soles of your shoes along the floor, you’re making sure to be on alert in case you spot them and it doesn’t register in your mind, the music from before now rattling your brain around in your skull.

But as you spot the guy from the party where you first met Nika, you have no choice in turning around and almost sprinting into the kitchen to get away from him and his musty presence.

With Lady Luck on your side, your body bumps into someone else’s, a familiar warmth to the hand wrapping around the back of your shirt to make sure that your lanky body doesn’t thump pathetically against the sticky floor and the foreign accent wrapping around the words coming out of the gorgeous girl’s mouth.

“Found us.” The sentence is short, simple, but still it makes your knees feel like tv static and your heart thump painfully against your ribs, your usual confident but grumpy demeanor turning shy and giddy. That was until a voice sounds above the music and the blood rushing in your ears, a voice that could immediately turn any giddiness back into irritability, no matter how much you loved the girl it belonged to.

“What the actual fuck are you wearing?” Emma asks giggling, looking at the pajamas you had changed into not long after she had left. She was clearly drunk, but sober enough to be a hater.

Nika pulls away from your body, just enough so that she herself could get a peek of the ‘ugly’ attire, bringing her free hand to her lips in order to not laugh out loud at it.

You look down at yourself, a big red Harvard logo printed on your white t-shirt with your number right above it, and a pair of Arsenal themed pajama pants, bright red with the logo printed in white.

A slight red tint creeps up on your face as you roll your eyes at the both of them, ready to drag the both of them out by the ear if you had to. The two women’s giggles fill the space you occupy, leaving you to fight the smile willing itself to creep up on your face, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders to try to get a move on out the house.

The giggles turn even louder as the guy from before calls out for you as you’re nearing the door, his strange dialect mixing with the alcohol in a mess of words and mumbles.

“Bye bye Brit!” If your hands hadn’t been secured around the shoulders of the girls beside you, you would’ve flipped him off. Luckily for both you and him, you had to keep hold of them both so that they wouldn’t drunkenly wander off.

You feel as they both sway on their feet as they focus solely on putting one foot in front of the other, wanting no drunken accidents to affect them in the morning.

The concrete of the sidewalk wasn’t comfortable to fall on, that much they both knew even in their drunken stupor.

After much fuss and a few close calls, you’ve all made it back to your car in one piece, the infamous car that no one had stolen.

“Em, come on, you go in the backseat.” Your voice holds a tone of finality and Em knows that there’s no room for arguing, instead just grumbling softly to herself as she opens the door and plops down in the seat just behind the passenger, buckling herself in under your watchful gaze.

When she’s done, you close the door softly before turning around, completely forgetting about Nika for a second, your heart jumping out of your chest as you come face to face with the Aphrodite.

Placing your hand over your thumping heart, you gasp sharply at the unexpected presence, a playful smile breaking out of the perpetrators face.

“Boo.” She whispers into the cold night air, a mix of alcohol and mint on her breath that’s pleasant in its own unique way, in a way that strangely leaves you wanting more of her.

“Get in the car Nika, I’ll drive you home.” The smile drops off her face when you mention home, like she wasn’t expecting that to be the word coming out of your mouth, her fingers twisting and turning around themselves in a nervous game. It makes you look at her curiously, wondering why that was her reaction, wondering how and why and everything in between.

But you wait for her to tell you why, how and everything in between in her own time, for the first time in the last week your mind stood still, waiting for whatever was about to come out of Nika’s parted lips.

“I- can you just take me back to yours instead? I mean only if you want to.” She picks at the skin around her nails as she speaks, all rushed like you wouldn’t say yes a thousand times if it meant that you got to spend another second with her.

“Of course I can, no problem really.” Trying your best to be comforting, you slap a smile on your face as you speak, bringing your hand up to rub at her shoulder softly, assuring her that you didn’t have a problem with opening your home up to another guest.

“Thanks.” With her word of gratitude, you turn back around to the car, seeing Emma making rather crude gestures through the window, a peace sign with her tongue between her fingers. Normally you would reprimand the drunk girl’s actions, but you can’t help the small giggle leaving your lips, a shake of your head as you roll your eyes.

You open the door to the passenger seat for Nika, motioning for her to sit down with practiced ease, smiling as she tiptoes towards the car like she's a princess and you're her knight, placing her hand into your outstretched one as she goes to sit down in the passenger seat.

You smile at the playful nature of the interaction, the tiredness hitting you like a ton of bricks once more as you keep a watchful eye over the woman buckling herself into your car, making sure that she does it properly.

Just like you did with Em before, you close the door softly after her, this time not being scared by anyone hiding behind you. Walking around the front of the car, the tips of your fingers trace over the hood as a sort of leading hand, letting you go around to your side with ease.

Not unlike Em, you plop down in your seat sluggishly before putting the key back in the ignition, pausing only to look back at your best friend with a pointed look, warning her not to be all too annoying during the ride back home.

She just puts her hands up, smirking at you playfully, so self assured that she wouldn’t do anything to get her into any trouble with you.

The car awakens with a rumble, the engine almost purring as you pull away from where you’re parked against the curb, tired eyes focused only on getting everybody back to your apartment safely and totally not at all on the beauty sitting in your passenger seat.

It isn't until you’ve hit the open road that you allow yourself to look back at your best friend through the rearview mirror, the girl's head resting on the seat behind her, mouth open with ever so soft snores coming out of her. It makes a wide, teasing smile appear on your lips, a sleepy drunk too apparently.

When you turn your eyes back to the road, you completely miss the enraptured look in the brunette beside you’s eyes, an adoring smile on her soft red lips.

Her eyes trail over the dips and curves of your body under your clothes, over the bridge of your nose and the slight furrow of your brow in concentration, over the curve of your jaw and the locks of your hair.

She lets her eyes trail over your exposed forearms as you grip the steering wheel, your fingers tapping against the leather to the beat of the song she hadn’t even noticed in the background.

Before she can stop herself, the accented words spill out of her mouth like a waterfall, a drunken impulse that maybe wasn't that affected after all.

“You’re really pretty you know.” It’s almost a whisper, just a little bit louder than a normal one would be, but you heard her like she was shouting it across the rooftops, not whispering it in the enclosed space of your car.

You look at her, only for a moment or two, her gaze turned to the road you were driving on, deliberately choosing not to look you in the eye, almost embarrassed by the comment that could easily be interpreted as friendly and not flirtatious.

“You’re awfully pretty as well, Nika.” You decide on your words very carefully, not wanting to seem overly flirtatious with the taken woman, but at the same time wanting to return the compliment. She was really, truly gorgeous though.

Again, before she can stop herself from clarifying, she blurts out another string of words that she hopes you’ll just play off as her being intoxicated and not really truthful.

“No, you don't understand, you're gorgeous.” She hears you laugh slightly under your breath, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief at you not taking her seriously, and waving off her comments under the simple guise of;

“And you're drunk.” With that, all your focus is back on the road, trying to get back to your home as quickly as humanly possible, wanting to crawl down in your bed and snuggle up to your blankets.

And after many twists and turns, you're finally back where you started, at your apartment building, the cold air surrounding you as you exit the vehicle after you’ve parked it back in your garage, Nika following in tandem as she too makes her way out, shivering slightly in the Boston air.

“The code to the door is 6532, you can go whilst I get Em up.” She smiles at you once again, committing the list of numbers to her memory, willing herself not to forget even a single digit. Her shoes clack against the pavement in a sure rhythm, making her way towards the door of the building, repeating the numbers to herself softly.

At the same time, you’re pulling Em’s door open, tapping her cheek to wake her up from the deep slumber she found herself in. Ever the deep sleeper, her snores just continued to fill the car, almost like she was doing it only to spite you.

“Em, Em. Emma, come on, wake up.” By now you’re shaking her harshly, the woman only grumbling at you to leave her alone. “Emma, I will slap you into next week if you don’t get up.” That rouses her, the older brunette quickly unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car, standing next to you and then bringing her hand up to mock salute you.

Rolling your eyes at her antics, you quickly lock the car up before walking out of the garage with your best friend in tow, the garage door going down and covering up your car from the view of the public, safe and sound.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get into your building, seeing Nika standing by the elevator doors, seemingly waiting for the two of you to join her in the lobby before you all collectively went up to your apartment. There’s a certain look in her eye, at least that’s what you think, maybe it was just the lighting. Yeah that’s it.

“Nika, hey girl, what are you doing here?” The girl practically hanging off you speaks, asking her now giggling friend the question of the century. She’s still really drunk, that’s easy to tell, the slurring of her words, the tint to her cheeks and the sway of her body.

“Oh we’re having a sleepover.” She answers nonchalantly, sending you a wink when Em’s not looking, both of you having to stop the giggles bubbling up in your chests. It was your little secret, Em didn’t have to know.

The elevator doors open and you all step in, directing Nika to press the button for the fifth floor with a simple show of fingers. You look on as she leans back against the wall, taking in the exterior of the moving box, bringing you all upstairs in the matter of seconds.

Gesturing for her to exit first, you bring Em with you as you walk out behind the tall brunette, her body almost hanging off yours with her arms tightening themselves around your shoulders. Em stumbles over her own feet a few times even with the help of your guidance, but all in all you both manage to stay upright in the small distance from the elevator to your door.

“Nika, catch!” You whispershout in her direction, plucking your keys out of your pocket and throwing it to her right in time, her hands coming up to catch them skillfully. She nods to the door she’s standing in front of, asking you if it’s the right one silently, pushing the house key on your keychain into the lock and twisting, the door opening with a click.

She takes a few slow steps into the apartment, looking around curiously, spotting a few photos hanging on the walls of the hallway. You enter after her, quickly kicking your shoes off with little to no regard for the overall cleanliness of the space, pulling a now half asleep Em through the open space between your kitchen, the hall and the living room.

Nika can hear the loud groan as you drop Em off on the couch, your back popping loudly as you stretch your muscles out, returning to the hall with heavy steps. You meet her with a tired smile, telling her to follow you.

“You want anything to eat? Drink? Anything?” You ask the beauty as she follows you into the kitchen, head on a swivel as she studies your apartment, looking down at the books laying on your table, wide open for anyone to see. Seeing her eyes widen at the problems, you chuckle quietly, not wanting to disturb Emma sleeping in the next room over.

“Yeah, that was my reaction too.” Crossing your arms across your chest, you lean back against the counter behind you, waiting for the girl in front of you to answer your previous question. “Come on, I’ll make you some tea.”

The woman giggles at your words, the stereotypical brit in you coming out as you push off the counter and saunter over to the kettle, filling it up with enough water for a cup each. You look back with a smile of your own before turning the tap off and returning the kettle to the tray, pushing the on button before turning around.

The sight you see as you turn around is one of Nika, sitting on your countertop with one leg crossed over the other, hands clutching the edge softly.

A comfortable silence covers the room as you stand on opposite sides waiting for the kettle to boil, you moving around the room to fetch two cups out of the cupboard, plopping a teabag in each cup, pouring the now boiling water over the tea, making the once clear water a sheer dark brown.

“There you go.” You say as you hand her one of the cups, a blue mug with small green dinosaurs painted all around, your own just a plain white one.

“Thank you.” The words of gratitude are whispered but you hear them all the same, watching her take a sip before she places the warm mug down on the counter right beside her thigh. She looks up, seeing your intense gaze fixed on her, turning her head down shyly, uncharacteristically. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You respond, smiling softly once more, taking your own sip of your tea. “If you want a shower, the bathroom is at the end of the hall, there are clean towels on the rack in there already, then you can take my bed, first door on the left.” Keeping your eyes locked on her, you see the tiny nod she gives at the information, absentmindedly hopping off the counter and moving towards the hallway leading to the bathroom before she stops suddenly, peeking her head around the corner to look at you.

“What about you?” She questions, her brows furrowed adorably in confusion.

“What about me?” You ask right back, now as confused as she is, not understanding what she meant.

“Where are you sleeping?” She asks as if it’s obvious, rolling her eyes sassily at you.

“Oh, I’ll just cuddle up to dear Em.” You smile almost sarcastically, like you can’t wait to have Em’s sharp elbow digging into your ribs in the near future.

“I don’t mind sharing with you.” Despite the way she says it, you know that Nika is being fully truthful in her confession, especially as she shrugs her shoulders at your questioning look.

“No, I can’t do that.” You say, unsure in the words coming out your own mouth more than anything.

“I don’t mind sharing with you, it can’t be worse than sharing with P anyway.” She doubles down on her previous statement, shaking her head at your stubborn nature.

“Nika, you don’t understand, I have to finish this up and by the time I’m done it’s going to be late…” You try to explain, plopping back down into the chair at your kitchen table, picking your pen up and focusing your eyes back down on the paper, not noticing the woman in question nearing you again until she’s standing right in front of you, her fingers plucking the pen right out of your hand.

“Do it tomorrow.” She says in that captivating tone, making you want to do exactly what she’s suggesting, despite the fact that it was something you so desperately needed to do. Extremely convincing indeed.

“Nika…” You sigh, and she knows that you’re not far from agreeing, just a little more needed to get you over the edge. Nika hums softly, handing you your pen back with a small smirk on her annoyingly pretty face.

“You know you want to.” She says into the tension filled air, physical sparks almost flying between your bodies as she leans in ever so slightly, your faces only inches apart from each other.

“How do you know what I want?” You counter, a blush creeping up your neck at her cocky smirk, trying your hardest not to seem squirmish under her intense look, uncharacteristic for your usual confident self. Still, a curious look creeps up on your face as you wait for her answer, the corners of your lips peeking up ever so slightly.

“Psychic.” She motions around with her hands, putting two fingers to her temple like she’s about to read the aura you emit, and you can’t help but lean back in your chair, snorting at the notion that she could do something like that.

“Yeah, yeah, go take a shower.” You roll your eyes playfully as she walks away, turning back to make the universal ‘I’m keeping my eyes on you’ gesture, a silly smile erupting on your face as her back turns to you fully, shaking your head at the antics.

You can hear the shower starting, the water splashing against the bathroom floor and the metal of Nika’s belt buckle being undone.

Looking back down at the books, you start trying to solve the next problem, your back hunched over the table uncomfortably, eyes straining against the soft lighting just about giving the papers enough visibility. The scratching of your pencil is comforting, repetitive but nice, keeping the light headache just starting to form at bay.

There’s no way to tell how much time that had passed as you sat in your dimly lit kitchen, ears picking up on the shower stopping but you didn't pay it much attention, still stuck on the same problem as before.

Letting out a sigh of relief as you finally get the equation right, you hear your name being called from the open doorway, no door sitting in the space, and you can physically feel your heart speeding up in your chest, banging against your ribs harshly for the thousandth time that day. Your mouth turns dry and your pupils expand exponentially, a rose colored tint on your cheeks.

Nika’s dark brown curls drip water onto your floor, droplets of water running down the top of her chest, stopping only when they come into contact with the absorbent material of the towel tightly wrapped around her body. Her collarbones on full display for your eyes to drink in, looking like they were sculpted in marble by Michelangelo, no not even he could do the goddess standing in front of you any justice.

In the matter of seconds you were fully awake, not even a remnant of the previous exhaustion in your mind, thousands of thoughts running through your mind at the same time making you completely short circuit.

You were, as most called it, gay panicking.

When you come back into ‘consciousness’ Nika is standing right in front of you, looking concerned and waving her hand in front of your eyes, trying to gain your attention.

“Yo, you okay?” She asks, that furrow back in her brow, deepening when you can’t seem to find the right words to reply to her, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Yea- uh yeah I’m dandy, what did you want to know?” You answer, mouth still dry like the desert but your thoughts are more collected than before. Redirecting your eyes so that you’re looking back at your homework, you don’t see the concern still in her expression, nor as she brushes it off and decides that maybe it didn’t matter.

“Can I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to change into.” Nika tells you and you hum, throwing out a simple response.

“Sure, my wardrobe is in my bedroom, take whatever you like.” The only thing you can hear after that is the thudding of her steps against your floor, retreating towards your room, the click of the door opening and closing making you let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, slapping your hand over your face at the fool you were making yourself out to be.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You whisper to yourself, rubbing your eyes harshly before sighing, flipping your books close and starting to tidy up all the papers laying all over your kitchen, yawning softly as you bend down to pick up the last piece of paper on the floor.

It’s unexpected when hands grip your hips, pulling you backwards like you were a dog being dragged by its hind legs. Looking back at Nika, all she does is smile mischievously and continue to pull you back with her.

“Nika, what are you doing?” By now you’re standing up a little more, her hands still situated on your hips, beginning to slide upwards to take hold of your waist instead.

“Getting you to bed.” She answers, not letting you go even as you move to continue cleaning up the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning my kitchen.” You tell her like it’s obvious, even rolling your eyes for the extra effect needed to convey your ‘message’. She hums, deciding on what her next course of action should be as you keep moving around, dragging her along.

“Do it in the morning.” Nika tells you almost sternly, trying to actually pull you towards your bedroom now instead of the half assed way she was doing it before.

“Nika come-” You start off before you’re interrupted, not having much of a choice in following her instructions this time.

“Nope, in the morning.” Letting yourself get dragged to your bedroom, you shut the door behind the two of you after the brunette finally let go of you, instead turning to your bed and slipping under the comfortable covers.

You however, move towards your wardrobe, ready to get out of the clothes that you had been outside in, they weren’t getting in your bed. The clean pair of shorts and the t-shirt you pull out replace the dirty clothes, not even noticing Nika’s steady eyes on you all throughout the process, your tired mind just wanting to go to sleep after the long day.

Shuffling over to the bed, you get under the blanket and go to get more comfortable, tossing for a few seconds before reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp Nika must have turned on when she was in choosing her sleepwear before.

Arms thread around your waist once more, with you laying on your back and her laying on her side, a leg slung over your thighs and her head placed on your chest, surprisingly cuddly and comfortable.

“This okay?” She questions timidly, looking up at you through heavy eyelids, begging for the rest that’s soon to come. Nika can only see the movement of your head, nodding back and forth tiredly, your right hand coming up to lay behind your head.

“Good night Nika.”

“Good night Y/n/n.”

An hour later when Em gets up to go pee, she decides to check on you, taking a little detour and opening your door just a little, seeing you and her brother’s girlfriend snuggled up tightly to each other, asleep face to face.

She chuckles quietly before closing the door back up and making her way to the bathroom, muttering something under her breath in order to not wake you both.

“I’ve seen lesbian porn straighter than that.”

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