TWENTY DEGREES — VERITAS RATIO
contains: female reader, reader sits on dr ratios lap, established relationship, spoilers for dr ratio character story iii, reverse comfort, soft dr ratio, lots of banter, this is a public threat to the aeon nous: acknowledge my man before we have issues. thank you!!!
veritas has been silent. there’s a letter on his desk when you come in, one that’s a bit crumpled at the corner as though it were clutched tightly in a fist. and veritas—well, veritas has been silent since you walked in.
“hello, love,” you murmur, coming behind him to gently knead at his shoulders. they seem tense—perhaps a bit extra stiff at your touch. you frown as you murmur, “bad day? have your students been giving you trouble?”
he’s quiet for a long moment. enough that you wonder if he’ll respond at all, until a sigh breaks the silence. “there’s been an invitation,” he murmurs, slowly reaching for the letter and handing it to you.
against the signs, the rigid the posture and heavy silence, the suffocating tenseness and lifelessness of the room, you seem to brighten. to have hope. veritas is a genius—a genius that is renowned far and wide among the cosmos, and should be recognized as such. an invitation surely means he’s been recognized by nous.
it’s what you—it’s what he’s been waiting on for so long. despite the signs that should tell you no, everything about veritas and his brilliance allows you to hope yes.
perhaps that’s why it’s all the more crushing when you notice the words interastral peace corporation at the top of the paper.
“the ipc?” you ask carefully, skimming the invite, “the intelligentsia guild. i see.”
“well, do say something,” he laughs, self-deprecating and bitter as he sets his pen down. “it’s not what you were expecting, i suppose?”
“oh, veritas,” you say softly, pulling his chair from his desk and letting yourself sit on his lap. he’s silent—as silent as when you walked in, as silent as someone who harbors the crushing weight of defeat, as silent as someone who has no hope left for goals—no, dreams that are just a fingertip’s bit out of distance.
“it is an opportunity worth taking, i suppose,” he gives you a tight, barely visible smile, “if by now i have not caught nous’s gaze, then it is safe to assume that i never will at any point. it’s alright, darling.”
veritas, despite all he is, is your lover first. before he allows himself to be a genius or doctor or professor, he makes sure to love you before all. you think it’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to love him yourself—but sometimes, you wish he didn’t love you so much. not enough to plaster on a fake smile and even faker words so as not to worry you, even as his every aspiration falls through the slips of his fingers like drops of water he’ll never be able to grip onto.
“it is alright,” you nod, “but not because the intelligentsia guild is all you’ll amount to—i know what you’re thinking, veritas,” you say sternly, poking his forehead. he frowns at the sudden gesture, only to stiffen momentarily as your hands gently cup his cheeks. “it’s alright because you have shown enough people that you are worthy of any acknowledgment from nous. many men have been bestowed upon such a gaze for far less—it’s okay, veritas, and it’s okay because it is simply that your talents are meant to align with a path that doesn’t follow nous. and i am proud of you regardless of that path.”
he lets out a soft, amused huff at that through his nose, closing his eyes as he hums, “such careful words. am i that delicate? it is alright to deem a failure as just that—a failure.”
“you are not a failure, veritas,” you scold firmly, “not to me or anyone who’s seen an ounce of your achievements. for such a smart man, you really can say such silly things.”
“i wasn’t referring to myself,” his lips tug upwards a bit more, eyeing you fondly, “but it is a rather…comforting feeling to know you think so passionately of my previous achievements. i only meant a failed attempt is still a failed attempt despite the other successes, i’m afraid. it seems i’m destined for failure at receiving such an acknowledgment—but the intelligentsia guild is better than nothing.”
“is a genius only a genius if an aeon says so?” you ask softly, pecking the corner of his lips.
“of course not,” he answers instantly.
“then you believe yourself to be one, no?”
“of course, darling,” he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest, “just not a genius worthy of higher praise, perhaps.”
“does the gaze of nous mean more to you than mine?” you ask with a kiss to his cheek.
he looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “such odd questions run through that head of yours,” he murmurs.
“answer the question, veritas. would the praise of nous mean more to you than mine?”
“of course not,” he indulges you, rolling his eyes as he raises a questioning brow at you.
“well then,” you grin cheekily, “it seems you’ve already gathered the highest of praise in the cosmos.”
“and who’s would that be?” he snorts, humoring you.
“mine,” you pout, “you already have my praise, you fool.”
“and it is the highest praise of the cosmos,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss you softly, sighing against your mouth as you fingers weave into the waves of his hair, stroking the dark locks and trailing to the nape of his neck.
“i’ll tell you until you believe it,” you murmur against his lips, kissing them briefly between the words, “that you’re not a failure.”
“how can i be? when i have such brilliance in my arms,” he murmurs, letting out a soft sigh in content as your nails gently scratch over his scalp soothingly.
“surely i can’t be at the top of the list of your achievements,” you roll your eyes, “you have eight phd’s, for crying out loud.”
“you sell yourself short, darling,” he chuckles, “even a man with twenty degrees still couldn’t hope to understand your many…eccentricities.”
“veritas!” you huff, slapping his arm, making him chuckle.
veritas, before he is a genius, before he is a man who aspires to claim the highest of achievements a scholar can hope achieve and join the ranks of genius society, is your lover first. there is little to be disappointed in when even despite every failed attempt, you still cozy yourself into his arms, covering him in your warmth and sheltering him in your touch, safely kept away from all the self destructive thoughts.
“now, now,” he grins teasingly, “i only meant you’re worth more than twenty degrees. it’s a compliment.”
“don’t think you can sweet talk me, you treacherous man,” you sulk, “i am the greatest gift any man could hope to receive.”
“as much as it pains me to agree with you, i’m afraid you’re right.” he shakes his head, the beginnings of a smile forcing along the edges of his lips as he looks at you with something crossed between wonder and affection.
“i’m proud of you, veritas,” you remind him one more time, softly, “not simply because i love you. because you impress me every day, in ways no one manages to.”
“is that so?” he tilts his jaw, letting you kiss the angle of it sweetly.
“yes,” you whisper in between feather-light kisses.
“then that is enough,” he closes his eyes.
nous when i catch you nous. when i catch you nous. when. i. catch. you. nous. 🔪
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hello! Is it okay if you write dorm leaders reaction to a heavily energetic reader please, if you don’t want to Idm ^^
of course, anon! thank you so much for requesting, i hope you like it!
dorm leaders + gn!energetic!reader
c/w: i can't write for jamil very well but i tried, leona is annoyed by you but respects you still, can you tell i can’t write for vil. malleus’s part is like 60x more romantic than the rest of the characters sorry 🤧
notes: ok so i have only completed book 3, but ive gotten plenty of spoilers about the next four books so i think i wrote for them pretty well just a heads up tho
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS find you a little hard to keep up with. He himself has his outbursts and episodes like anybody else, but that also comes with anger, so he does his best to suppress them. But you? No, you were always this way, and in a positive manner. It almost reminded him of Kalim, except that you could handle yourself and seemed to be relatively smart, seeing that you were passing your classes as a non-magical person in a magical school.
Your excitability sometimes led to you have an evident, though not purposeful, disregard for the rules. It was irksome, yes, and it took a lot of restraint from him not to lash out at you as much as he may at Ace or Deuce—he still feels guilty from his Overblot, and besides, you’re a lot easier to stand at times than compared to those two. But, overall, he still manages, opting to instead recite the rule you broke tamely, and receiving an understanding nod from you that makes him pleased. Quietly, he’ll let out this small sigh, a symbol of his appreciation for your respect of his strict ways. It isn’t easy for him to change, and while he’s trying his best, it’s nice to know he has somebody who’s willing to comply with the rules for his sake.
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR somehow gets even sleepier in your presence. Just the sight of you having so much energy makes him lethargic. Why were you always so peppy? How were you always so peppy? It didn’t make any sense to him. You being this way wouldn’t be so much of an issue if you weren't so persistent. But here you were, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him, and here he was, tired and annoyed and letting you drag him to his classes just to shut you up. It was like having a brighter, more talkative version of Cheka that actually knew what made him tick. It was irritating, but if he really hated it so much, why'd he always comply and go along with you? He'd never admit it, not in a million years, but he has this respect for you after all you've done for NRC, so he finds it best to give into your wishes, no matter how childish you seem. Because he knows that you aren't. He's seen it play out with every single Overblot. You're a lot more clever than you look, Herbivore, and he gives credit where credit is due.
AZUL ASHENGROTTO has to deal with Floyd on the daily, so it's not like this is anything new to him. If anything, it's better, considering your energy doesn't take the form of violence, like a certain Leech twin. At first, Azul did mistakenly assume your energy to be included with stupidity, which was a grave error on his part, when he discovered your scheme to destroy his contracts. In fact, he really thought you to be dumb enough to forget to even drink the water breathing potion before you went underwater to the museum. He was harshly incorrect, however, and so now he deals with the price of having to put up with your bounciness. You visit the Mostro Lounge quite often, helping out for an extra profit where you could and checking up on Azul, despite his protests against it. He's internally thankful, somewhere deep down, but it makes him embarrassed to admit it.
JAMIL VIPER is tired of this treatment. What did he ever do to deserve this? Is this punishment for his ill thoughts toward Kalim he's harbored for so many years? Why'd a Kalim Part Two have to come along? And hang around the Scarabia dorm so much? He was tired, over it, and so done with this crap. At the very least, you're not irredeemably dumb, and you're able to handle and care for yourself. You've made that quite evident from your life in Ramshackle to the way you've dealt with numerous overblots. He's surprised someone of your.. nature.. could be so responsible. So, as a minor thanks for not being completely stupid, he does his very best to.. avoid you. Why? Well, because even though you're tolerable, he'd prefer to not have a complete outburst of anger at you, fueled by Kalim's irresponsibility and the two of your energetic natures combined. So, consider this a favor. He's trying to be considerate, let him do what he needs to do.
VIL SCHOENHEIT is intrigued, not annoyed, but not overjoyed, either. Epel’s a handful already, so now that he’s taking on yet another project, he’d prefer it if you were a little more compliant than the purple haired first year. He understood it felt difficult to sit still for a while, but just try for him, okay? Otherwise he finds it rather endearing. He thinks it’s cute, the way you get excited to see him all the time. It’s flattering, definitely. He just wishes you'd sit still while he paints your nails, potato.
IDIA SHROUD is overwhelmed please leave him alone why are you so wild god help him. He’s already constantly afraid of Kalim and Cater jumping him, now he’s gotta worry about another secret THIRD threat? this is NOT fun he NEVER should have exited his room WHY did he let Ortho drag him around today. You kind of scare him into attending classes. Though he guesses (?) he’s appreciative of having another person who seems so enthusiastic about games like he is. But please don’t scare him like that or else he WILL be going into conniptions.
MALLEUS DRACONIA finds it interesting, adorable and very fascinating. He’d adore you regardless of what you were like, but this is just so endearing to him. It’s one thing that people seem to get iffy around him, whether that be out of respect or fear or both. But you don’t seem to be overly respectful of him, nor afraid. It might seem like a death wish to most, but in your case? You were too enthralled with the current task of running up to him excitedly every time you saw him to even give it any thought. And that is what he appreciates and desires so much out of you. It brings a smile to his lips every time you bound outside of Ramshackle at night to walk with him, or when you have this big grin on your face as you talk about something that interests you. He couldn’t ask for it any other way, really.
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Obv no pressure!!!!!!!!! And sorry if it comes off that way ❤️❤️ I was just wondering if u would ever consider posting the 4fic?? Just on tumblr even
i keep forgetting OMG but here is part 1 (4.2k)
THE SET-UP
They don’t do this very often anymore. Hang out, just the four of them.
George, Alex, Lando, and Charles.
To get closer to the truth, it’s not like the four of them ever properly hung out at any point in time, in the strictest sense of the phrase. They’d stream together on Twitch during COVID, yes, and they get on well in the paddock. But that doesn’t exactly count, when George thinks about it. Not even in 2019 did the four of them ever really hang out willingly, outside of work, not even just George, Alex, and Lando, no matter how much media they were shoved into together throughout the year. These past four years, they’ve just all been too busy. Besides, Charles and Lando have their own friend circles. Charles prefers his hometown Monegasque friends. Lando has Max F and Max V and Martin G and Daniel R and Quadrant and—whatever the fuck ever, really.
George and Alex, well. Different case. Not the point.
Even closer to the truth: they had more time and less fame before Formula 1, and they would hang out outside of races. Underage pub crawls, house parties with friends from secondary, even during their F2 season. Which George won, by the way.
So.
Formula 2.
George, Alex, and Lando were close back then despite being competitors. They were the weirdos. No one liked Lando because his dad was rich and bought him a spot in McLaren’s junior academy; no one liked Alex because he was a Red Bull junior and Asian, but not Asian enough; and no one liked George because—he was George.
Jokes on everyone else. They were the winners. They’re the ones who made it to F1.
All this to say: the three of them were close back then, but they’re not as close anymore. Still, good times. They had many good times.
One memory George holds quite dear to his heart is Alex accidentally knocking Lando into a bush that George puked on. Yes, George is quite fond of that night.
But then, that three-way friendship didn’t exactly include Charles at all. All of them were friends and friendly with Charles even in karting, but those days, Charles wasn’t exactly part of their little group. It was just George and Alex and Lando. Or George and Alex.
Which is probably why they’re here, in Charles’ teeny tiny flat.
/
They were in Spa, the four of them chatting before free practice. Alex had offhandedly asked why they haven’t gone on their little drunken adventures like they used to. Then, Charles made a shocked noise, small and offended, and demanded to be included.
Demanded is probably a strong word. His eyes went wide and curious. He tilted his head to the side and pouted at Alex, then Alex spluttered and said, Of course, you should come!
As if they had tangible plans.
However, they ended up making plans, and it was a miracle that they all had a weekend free in Monaco before Alex fucked off with Lily to Majorca.
/
And it’s not like George doesn’t like Charles.
He likes Charles a lot, actually.
It’s just, sometimes—
All the time.
It’s hard to tell what his humor is. George’ll say something, try to crack a joke, and Charles will look at him with these big, round, open eyes. Not understanding, or worse, understanding, and choosing not to play along.
Not in a, like, malicious way. But in a why did you say that? sort of way. Which is probably worse. He’s always very nice about it, very earnest. But his sincerity knocks George off-guard. Sometimes, George wishes Charles was more like Alex, laughing at everything and playing everything off like a joke just to maintain an ounce of control. Twist things the way he wants them to be twisted.
Right, yes. Charles.
It’s easier with him online. Voice chat. That way, George doesn’t have to see his microexpressions and feel self-conscious, analyzing each of their conversations.
Charles has a very expressive face.
Alex gets on with him a lot better.
He makes Charles laugh, a lot. A lot. And while George has made Charles laugh plenty of times, it’s never actually been on purpose. It is more like—George saying something unintentionally funny, and Charles slowly bursting into giggles, or Lando and Alex making George the butt of the joke and Charles laughing along just because he wants to fit in.
Ah. George needs to be more charitable.
/
Returning to Charles’ teeny tiny flat:
They’ve just gotten back from Jimmy’z. Honestly, George was having a great time: Alex was all giggly on his shoulder sipping on a fruity cocktail and Lando had been up by the DJ stage and Charles was off at the bar chatting with some girl. But then Charles sprinted to them and tugged on George’s arm and said, We need to leave.
So they left.
They found Lando first, of course, floundering as he tried to get this girl’s number. They dragged him out of the club, the four of them squeezed into an Uber, tried to be as polite as possible to the driver, and here they are now:
Charles’ teeny tiny flat. On the floor circled around the coffee table in the sitting room. Lando took the couch because—of course he did.
“So?” Lando demands, frowning. His cheeks are flushed, his curls a mess. “Why’d we leave? I thought the point was to get pissed, and I’m not even.”
George would disagree. But, well.
Charles huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I saw someone that I did not want to talk to.”
Alex snorts. He flushes this lovely color of pink whenever he’s drunk, George has noticed. Quite lovely. Very lovely. “Who? An ex-girlfriend?”
Charles kicks lightly at Alex’s thigh. They’re deep into summer, hot, sticky. Alex is wearing these little shorts. Not so little, really, but right now, George can see the meat of his underthigh, muscle hidden.
“Ex-boyfriend,” Charles corrects.
Alex dyed his hair to this auburn shade of brown the other month. George likes it better, like this, if he’s being honest. Obviously, Alex looked amazing as a blond—Alex looks amazing no matter what, but he looks softer like this, not a blond bombshell, alien and out of reach, grabbing everyone’s attention. Instead, just George’s best friend.
“Which one?” Alex asks, propped up on his hands, flat to the ground behind him. His shin hairs tickle George’s. Under the table, George only now realizes, they’re touching.
“Jean,” Charles answers.
“Oh,” Alex says, brows furrowing. Overdramatic. Alex likes being dramatic like that. He looks a little goofy right now. Silly, maybe. “I never liked that guy.”
Charles sighs. “It has been a while, but our breakup was…” He turns to Alex. “How do you say it…”
“A shit show?” Alex supplies, grinning warmly. George feels so warm.
Charles laughs, shoulders coming up to his ears. “Yes, a shit show,” he repeats, the syllables odd and unfamiliar on his tongue, mouth curling emphatically. “He—”
He.
Charles keeps talking.
But George:
“Wait, wait, wait. Your what?”
Charles turns his head to George. Blinks. Slowly. Tilts his head to the side. Confused.
“My ex-boyfriend,” he repeats, like this isn’t earth-shattering information.
George gawks. Mouth open. Jaw unhinged. Eyes bug-wide. The full mile. He glances over at Alex, who looks just as confused as Charles, then Lando, who’s looking down at his phone, disinterested.
Charles blinks again, seeming to understand George’s confusion. “Oh, you don’t…?”
“I don’t what?” George snaps, feeling like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. Feeling like the odd one out. For the first time in their little quartet, George feels like the outsider.
“I am gay, George,” Charles deadpans. “Did I never tell you this?”
“Uh,” George says, wincing at how his voice cracks, “no?”
“Oh,” Charles replies, blinking. His mouth parts into a small circle. He bats his eyelashes, demure, and George feels something ugly twist in his belly. “Well. Sorry, I think I forgot.”
George suddenly feels very sober.
“But you—your girlfriend—”
Charles shrugs. “She is a good friend. It is always good to have a public girlfriend.”
Well. This explains a lot.
“Lando,” George starts, head whipping toward him, “did you—?”
“Mmh. I didn’t like Jean either,” Lando replies, still not looking up from his phone.
George makes a noise. “How do you guys know this Jean?”
Alex snorts and rolls his eyes. “George, you know Jean. F2?”
Jean. Jean Jean Jean. George thinks and thinks and—
“Oh,” George says, Jean’s face materializing in his head. George never really talked to him; they ran in different circles and drove for different teams, but George vaguely remembers narrowly missing out on a win because Jean wouldn’t get out of the fucking way when George was trying to lap him. He lost the win by three seconds. To Lando. That’s about all he remembers of the guy. “Wow.”
Charles… dated him.
Suddenly self-conscious about how he’s coming off about this whole thing, George stumbles to clarify, “I mean, mate, obviously I don’t care. It’s not a problem. Like, of course I don’t have a problem, I’m just shocked, mate. I would’ve—”
“Oh, calm down, George,” Alex says, grinning beatifically. “Yes, yes. You’re an ally. You’re teammates with Lewis Hamilton. Love is love. We know. You don’t need to give us a little speech.”
“Sod off,” George mutters, kicking Alex under the table. “Why did no one tell me this?”
“Not my fault you have a stick up your arse when it comes to sex,” Alex jibes, kicking George back. “I think talking about gay sex would’ve given you a heart attack.”
George huffs, cheeks warming. Like, fine. George is self-aware enough to know that he gets a bit dodgy when it comes to sex. But that’s the way he thinks it should be, anyway. “Doesn’t have to be about gay sex, does it?”
“You should try it,” Alex says. “It’s fun. Quite different.”
Charles hums carefully, eyes big and curious, assessing. George feels like he’s being taken apart. “Yes, George. I think it would loosen you up,” Charles says, too sincerely.
From the couch, Lando snickers, chewing on his hoodie drawstring.
Charles frowns and glares at him. “What?”
Ah. Charles hadn’t even caught the double entendre.
Wait.
His head whips to Alex. “You have?” Had sex. With a man. George can’t get any of the words out.
“Oh, c’mon,” Alex says, easy and casual like George’s whole world isn’t falling apart. “You know I like blokes.”
Well, sure. George did know that. He knows everything about Alex. Alex is his best mate, after all. But Alex’s sexuality was an irrelevant, inconsequential little fact that George’d merely hold in the back of his mind. His best mate happened to be bisexual. That didn’t change anything.
“Yeah, I guess,” George admits, “but—Lily?”
“Again,” Alex says, “you know we have an open relationship.”
George laughs nervously. Yes, right. He’d forgotten about that.
He’d honestly—
He doesn’t know. He hadn’t actually thought Alex and Lily were acting on that.
“You’ve never thought about it?” Alex asks. “A little hanky-panky with the lads? Never?”
George chokes. “The lads? Plural?”
Alex waves his hand. “Hyperbole.”
Lando, hoodie drawstring still in his mouth, asks, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Hyperbowl,” Lando butchers. George isn’t sure how he made it past primary.
“Like,” Alex says, “when you tell your girls on Raya you have an eight inch dick. Hyperbole.”
The drawstring falls out of Lando’s mouth. He sits straight up, inflamed. “I do not tell them I have a—”
“Lando, you have an eight inch dick?” Charles asks, suddenly very interested in the conversation.
Alex snickers. “The point is that he doesn’t.”
Tomato-red, Lando bumbles, “Oh, bugger off. It’s not like you’d know.”
“Anways, George?”
George scratches the back of his head. Is it hot in here? Is it just him or the shitty insulation in Charles’ flat?
He thinks back to the original question and replies, “I cannot say I have thought about it.” He swallows. Because honestly, he hasn’t. He’s, like, twenty-five now. That’s far too old to be having sexuality crises anyway. Still, drunk, and a little too honest for his own good, he starts to ramble, “Like, I don’t think I. I mean. Haha. I am very happy with, er. Women.”
Not like George has been getting much lately, not after his less than ideal breakup with Carmen at the start of the season. And he isn’t like Lando either: going on apps or picking up a girl at the club is, like, his worst fucking nightmare. Rock fucking bottom. He’d rather go celibate than go on Tinder.
“So, like. You know. Men don’t.” God, why is George still talking? “I have my own, er. Likes. And I don’t think that—”
“Oh,” Alex sighs, exasperated, “don’t be such a prude, Georgie. Here—”
Fireworks. Butterflies. Violins.
No, none of that, actually. Just Alex’s mouth. George wouldn’t trade it for the world.
It has been so long since George kissed someone. Since George was kissed by someone.
Alex has a hand cupping his cheek—so tender and gentle that George shivers beneath him. Yes, beneath him. George isn’t on his back, but it’s taking all of his core muscle strength to keep himself somewhat upright with Alex half on top of him and half in his lap, kissing him. Alex, Alexander, Alexander Albon is kissing him.
His tongue runs along the seam of George’s mouth, and with a gasp, George parts his lips, mouth going slack, finally realizing that Alex is kissing him, and he isn’t kissing him back. He’s a bloody idiot, that’s what he is, he thinks, as he surges forward to return the kiss, and—
Ah.
Alex sitting back on his heels, eyes a little wild, mouth pink and slick.
Anticlamactic.
George makes a soft noise, feeling like he’s just been taken apart, disemboweled, ribs in all the wrong places.
It feels like—
Feels like the comedown after Brazil 2022. He got a taste of a win, and now he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what it feels like to stand on the top of the podium.
Now, he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what Alex’s lips feel like against his.
It’s not like it was a fantastic kiss, or anything. George has had better. Loads better. This wasn’t even a proper kiss. George hadn’t even managed to kiss back. And it wasn’t like it meant anything either.
It was just Alex.
“Hey,” Charles whines, sounding like he’s pouting. Only sounding like it—George couldn’t possibly know what Charles looks like right now. He isn’t looking anywhere but at Alex. It just isn’t possible for him to take his eyes away. “Why do you kiss George and not me?”
Lazily, Alex throws his head to the side, looking at Charles. In the meantime George stares at the lovely column of his throat. “Been there done that, Charlie.”
George sucks in a breath.
“Don’t look so jealous,” Alex says, chuckling, his gaze returning to George. George doesn’t even want to imagine what he looks like right now—what Alex sees. “It’s not like you were up for grabs.”
“Ah,” George says, shuddering. It’s just—the way Alex’s voice sounds, the way he’s looking at him—
“Oi, oi,” Lando sounds, swinging upright so that his shoes are finally off the couch and on the ground. “This is getting a bit too gay for me. I’m calling a Lyft.”
“Lando,” Alex laughs, “you are quite literally dating a man.”
Lando, ever prey-like and anxious when it doesn’t matter, blushes and says, “Oh, fuck off. Me and Max aren’t dating. We’re just, um…”
He reminds George of a snapping turtle, in a way: hard-shelled, prickly, and goes through puberty late.
At Lando’s words, Charles’ head rises, which is rather striking, George reckons, since he hasn’t said a word this whole conversation. His face scrunches up, brows furrowed, almost irritated. He’s frowning when he asks, “Lando, you are with Max?”
“Fewtrell,” Alex clarifies.
“Oh,” Charles exhales, tension releasing from his shoulders as Lando blushes an even brighter red and blubbers incoherently.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Lando says, flustered and bitchy. “I’m not with Max. Fewtrell or Charles’ Max—”
“Um,” Charles says, looking a little furious, “he’s not my—”
“Whatever,” Lando says, waving his hand vaguely. “Anyway, I’m leaving—mmph!”
Oh, alright then, George thinks, watching as Charles yanks on Lando’s wrist and pulls him down to the floor for a kiss.
Lando yanks himself away, and in the process, bangs his knee on the underside of the coffee table and hisses as he falls onto his back. Clearly still very drunk. Charles is laughing at him. So is Alex, honking and boisterous. George feels too shocked to find the humor in this.
Scrubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he stammers, “What was that for?”
Charles shrugs. His face is pink and filled with glee, eyes sparkling. “Alex wouldn’t kiss me.”
“That’s the only reason why?” Lando asks, lifting a brow.
Charles giggles. “I like you, Lando,” Charles says, like it’s nothing, like Charles Leclerc liking someone means nothing. George wonders what that is like, to be able to say something like that without shame or anxiety. To be able to throw things into the air like that. I like you with the self-assurance to know that it will be well-received. That your attraction will be reciprocated.
“I think you are very cute,” Charles finishes, swaying a little.
“Not cute,” Lando huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, which strangely, George reckons, makes him look cuter. “I’m sexy.”
“Yes,” Charles says, giggling harder, his shoulders rising to his ears, “you are very sexy, Lando.”
“You’ll say anything to anyone,” Alex snorts, watching them with curiosity.
Charles keeps his eyes on Lando when he says, “When I want them in bed, yes.” Lando’s throat bobs, a mouse caught in the trap. Yes, George thinks, that’s what it’s like being looked at by Charles: caught in a trap. “Is that something you would like, Lando?”
“Uh,” Lando squeaks.
“Or will your Max get mad at me?”
Instantly, Lando shakes his head, a bit like a dog coming out of the bath. Doesn’t even make a snippy comment about your Max.
Charles kisses him again.
It isn’t anything like the last kiss, abrupt and awkward. It isn’t anything like when Alex kissed George either. This one is—
George has to look away, face hot.
“Oh, don’t do that,” he hears from the side.
“What?” George asks, his insides feeling gooey.
“Look,” Alex says, then his hand is on George’s burning cheek, turning it to face Charles and Lando. Lando, who is sitting in Charles’ lap. Charles, who has his hands firmly on Lando’s waist.
George swallows. The room is far too small and the only sounds are the slick-wet sounds of kissing, and heavy breathing. Now that George is looking, he can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. Like a car crash, he thinks absently. Sweat drips down the side of his neck, where Alex’s hand is placed now. George’s whole body feels on fire.
Alex isn’t saying anything. They only—watch. Watch as Charles slides a careful hand under the seam of Lando’s shirt, snaking along his lower back. Lando squeaks and pulls back from the kiss, panting against Charles’ mouth. Desperate, George thinks. They both look a little desperate right now.
More than a little. Faces flushed, clothes wrinkled, making out on the fucking floor in front of a fucking audience.
“It’s kind of late,” Lando mutters, so quietly that George can barely hear him over the sound of his own breathing.
“Yes, ah,” Charles says. Lando crawls off of him, uncoordinated; whatever spell the both of them were under seems to be broken. Charles turns toward George and Alex, his lips swollen, looking thoroughly kissed. His shirt is riding up. Lower: a massive tent in his jeans. George forces his eyes to drift back up to Charles’ face, settling on his mouth. “Maybe everyone should go.” After a beat, he adds, “I am very drunk.”
Lando is avoiding eye contact, playing with his fingers, hands positioned conspicuously over his crotch, inhibitions remembered.
George swallows, his voice hoarse when he says, “We can tell.”
Alex collects Lando off the floor, and George and Charles follow them to the door, silently.
“I’ll get these two home safe,” Alex promises, clasping a hand on both George’s and Lando’s shoulder. Lando bats his hand away.
Leaning against the wall, Charles smirks and says, “You owe me a kiss, Alexander.”
Alex smiles back at Charles. George stiffens at the reminder that Charles has Alex wrapped around his fucking finger, even now. “I’ll pay you back with interest next time, Charlie.”
After that, they start to shuffle out the door, but then Lando, still inside the flat, says, “Charles.”
George and Alex turn around.
Head tilted, Charles asks, “What is it?”
And that’s all he’s able to get out before Lando is grabbing his face and kissing him. Hungrily. Charles makes a shocked noise as he’s backed up against the wall, melting.
It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered. After only a moment, Lando pulls away with a smug smile, and Charles looks—dazed. Kiss-stupid and slack-jawed. George wonders if that’s how he gets when he isn’t in control.
“We should,” Charles starts, throat bobbing as he stares at the three of them in the hall. He licks his lips, cheeks red like his car, and scans each of them with his eyes. “All of us. Again.”
All of us, George thinks. Not just Lando, not just Alex. All of them. All four of them.
“I mean. Only if you all want.”
Charles, George registers, is looking at George. That’s where his gaze has settled. And George realizes that, yes, he is the limiting factor here. Because apparently, a-fucking-pparently, Charles has a history with Alex, and George’s more than half sure that if Charles and Lando were only marginally less drunk than they are, they would have fucked tonight.
Alex and Lando are looking at him too.
What’s the harm if George says no?
No, no. Wrong question.
What’s the harm if George says yes?
He doesn’t want to be the odd one out. What he wants is—
He turns to look at Alex, looking at him with curious eyes. George’s gaze drifts and drifts—Alex’s pink mouth, the shape of it, remembering the feel of it against his own.
George made his decision a long time ago. Charles and Lando—they’re just the implications.
Shuddering, he turns back to Charles, and nods his head.
/
Monaco is small enough that practically everything is just a walk away. Lando’s flat is the closest one to Charles’; George and Alex drop him off. On the way, surprisingly, they don’t chat about what happened back at Charles’ place. Instead, they grill Lando about whatever’s going on between him and Fewtrell, only to get absolutely nothing.
George’s flat is the closest to Lando’s, so Alex walks him back. And they don’t talk at all, at least until they’re outside the front door and George is about to walk in.
“Hey, um,” Alex says, biting his lip. “Tonight was a lot.”
“Yeah,” George admits, finding no use in pretending otherwise.
“So,” Alex starts. “Are you, like, sure? About—getting all together again? I feel kinda bad that like—I dunno. It was kinda like, we were ganging up on you. If you feel pressured in any way, I couldn’t live with myself, so, uh—”
Alex rambles. He’s a rambler. George knows this about him. Alex is a horrible storyteller, always telling the punchline first, then filling in all the gaps. Even then, he always forgets important parts, tells it all non-linearly and it never makes sense to anyone but him.
The truth is, as much as Alex’s blithe, carefree nature obscures, beneath that persona, he does just as much overthinking that George does.
And George—
Perhaps he isn’t as sober as he thought he was, but he feels clear. For the first time tonight, he feels in control. Brave.
He does what he wanted to do earlier, back in Charles’ flat, when Alex pulled away and George surged forward.
He kisses Alex. Mid-sentence, mid-word, mid-apology.
It’s just a peck, really. George thinks that if he properly kissed Alex right now, he might do something absolutely stupid, like drop to his knees and try to blow Alex under the cameras of his building. Even if he’s never done that before, he thinks he’d do that for Alex.
If Alex asked. If Alex wanted. He’s too afraid to ask if that’s what Alex would want.
Alex is smiling at him—and it’s one of his soft smiles. George feels so dizzy and stupid. “Not so straight then, are you?”
Heart hammering, George remembers to be brave. “Probably not.”
Alex licks over his mouth. George wants.
“Alright then,” Alex says, pupils wide. “We’ll talk in the morning? All of us?”
Yes, George thinks. They will.
/
And, against all odds, they do.
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Couples Therapy - Part 3
When Angela arrived at the therapist’s office, she waved happily at the receptionist.
“You look, like, totally pwetty today!” said the bimbo.
“You look pwetty too!” said Angela. And she meant it. The receptionist’s pigtails were so cute! For a moment Angela wished her own hair was in pigtails, but then she remembered that was only really meant for little girls, even if they did look really good on the woman in front of her. Her own hair was in a ponytail today, tied back with a large pink scrunchie. That was much more respectable and grown-up. She wasn’t a ditzy receptionist after all.
Eric led her by the hand into the office itself, where the therapist was waiting with the tablet in his hands.
Angela squealed excitedly when she saw it, and the two men laughed.
“Here you go, sweetie,” the therapist said, handing her the screen once she’d settled down on the sofa next to Eric. Her husband had his arm around her waist, holding her body close to him.
“Is it safe if I see the screen?” he asked the therapist.
“It’s fine. The program only affects girls like little Angela here.”
Angela didn’t understand what they were talking about, but she didn’t care. The tablet had come to life, and she was engrossed in the wonderful, beautiful sparkling spirals once again.
“You like your pretty lights, don’t you Angela?” the therapist asked her.
She nodded. They were so pretty.
“Good girl. We’re going to have another talk, sweetie, just like we did yesterday. You wet the bed last night, didn’t you Angela?”
Angela turned red, but nodded again. It was so embarrassing to talk about, even though she knew the therapist was a professional. It was much easier to let herself be drawn in by the bright colours.
“That’s right. You woke up in a yucky wet diaper. You’re such a stupid baby, aren’t you Angela?”
Angela blushed even more brightly. Stupid? She wasn’t stupid, was she? She wasn’t a stupid baby. She shook her head, frowning.
“Look at the lights, little one. A clever, grown-up woman wouldn’t have wet the bed. She wouldn’t have soaked her night-time nappy like a silly little two-year-old, Angela. Only a baby would do something like that. A stupid, overgrown baby like you. We already agreed that you’re a dumb bitch, remember? Well, being a stupid baby too isn’t much different, is it?”
Angela shook her head again, but she couldn’t tell whether she was agreeing with him or not. Maybe she was stupid. A stupid baby.
“That’s right, it’s very similar. You’re just a stupid baby. A stupid baby who wets the bed. But it’s not so bad being a baby. You get to be taken care of all the time, and you like being taken care of, don’t you Angela? Like a princess?”
Angela nodded, still staring at the swirling lights. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be treated like a princess? That’s why she’d married Eric in the first place, she remembered. So he’d look after her. So she could live like a princess.
“Yes, you’re a stupid baby who needs someone to take care of her. You need someone to look after you because you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you Angela?”
Angela focused, trying to clear her mind of the fuzziness. Something about this didn’t feel right. Was she a dirty girl? She wasn’t sure. It sounded familiar. In fact, she’s sure she’s thought of herself as a dirty girl before. A bit dirty. A bit naughty. She’d done some dirty things hadn’t she? She’d done some dirty things with men who weren’t her husband. But the therapist didn’t know about that, did he?
“You’re a dirty girl, Angela. A messy girl. A messy girl who needs someone to take care of her and clean her up.”
Angela frowned. Messy? No… she was dirty. Not messy. But weren’t they the same thing? Her head felt like it was full of cotton candy. She was probably confused. She could be so stupid sometimes. She was a stupid baby.
“You make all kinds of messes, sweetie. You make messes in your diapers, and not just at night…”
The therapist kept talking, but Angela lost herself in the colours on the screen. She was such a silly, messy girl. She needed her Daddy. She needed her Dada.
She became vaguely aware that someone was taking off her clothes. Was it Eric? Were they going to fuck? Even though she was a stupid baby, she was also a dumb bitch. And dumb bitches got fucked whenever a man wanted to fuck them. But no, she wasn’t getting fucked. Someone was changing her into her nappy. Was it bedtime? No, it didn’t matter that it was bedtime. Stupid babies needed to wear their nappies all the time.
“…but when you’re at home, there won’t be any need for other clothes,” the therapist was saying. “You like it when Daddy looks at your naked body. You’re a dirty girl. It’s silly to have your boobies out all the time, and you love being silly. And your Daddy needs to be able to see if you need your diaper changed too, because you’re such a stupid baby that you won’t even tell him if you’re wet or messy. You’ll wait to be checked like a silly little girl.”
Angela nodded. She was so silly. So stupid.
“…and if Daddy’s going to be taking care of you, it’s only fair that you treat him with respect, wouldn’t you agree? You need to look up to your husband more, Angela, and I know the perfect way to do that. All you have to do is…”
The therapist’s words echoed in the back of her mind, settling there. She felt dumb. She felt ditzy. Ditzy like the receptionist. Was Angela like her? She frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be like her. Hadn’t Angela hated her at the beginning? Hadn’t she thought the receptionist was a bimbo? A vapid, overgrown six-year-old?
She realised she was still staring at the swirling patterns on the tablet with her mouth open, a line of drool hanging from her lips. “Something’s wrong…” she mumbled, interrupting the therapist. “I’ve been acting wike… like a child. You’ve been doing something to me… Eric’s been…”
She had to look away from the lights. She had to stop this. Otherwise she was going to end up like that moron on reception, some sick little fetish fantasy for her husband. Worse. She’d be lucky to end up as mature as that brainless bimbo. Daddy… Eric had something else in mind for her. Bedwetting. Nappies. He wanted to take away her adulthood. He wanted to punish her for cheating on him! That’s what all this was about!
“Not to worry,” said the receptionist, chuckling. “This always happens around this point. The suggestions get a bit much for the poor little girls. They still have their dignity, somewhere deep down. But it’s no use.”
Before Angela could do anything, the lights on the tablet became even brighter, brilliantly bright. They swirled faster on the screen, and Angela felt herself slipping back into them. No… She had to stop looking. She didn’t want to be turned into a big baby! She didn’t deserve this… She deserved… She deserved to be looked after. Yes. She deserved to be treated like a princess. A little princess… A sweet, innocent little princess who never says no to Daddy.
Angela blinked, and the session was over. The pretty lights had gone! She pouted and looked up at the two men. Eric was on his feet and the therapist was talking to him, saying some grown-up stuff she didn’t understand. Something about a woman’s rightful place, whatever that was.
Angela got up too, her diaper crinkling loudly under her frock and squishing between her legs. She must have peed in it at some point, but she didn’t remember when. Little girls like her couldn’t tell when they went potty in their pants. The soggy thing peaked out below the hem of her dress by at least two inches. Angela blushed. It was embarrassing, but she knew it didn’t matter if people saw her wet nappy. She was just a stupid baby.
“And she won’t need any more sessions?” Daddy asked the therapist.
“No. The conditioning takes a little time to fully sink it, but she’ll be all done by tonight.”
The two men shook hands.
“Ready to go home, baby girl?” Daddy cooed, turning to look at her.
Angela replied with a big smile, and held out her hand for Daddy to hold.
“Good girl,” he said, and her princess parts tingled delightfully.
They walked home together just like they had yesterday. He walked smoothly while she toddled along beside him, her diaper pushing her thighs apart like the big dumb baby she was, and she didn’t let go of his hand once until they were all the way home.
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To the dark I said pour and forgot to say when
pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader
genre: hurt/comfort, angst
summary: It's starting to become too much for you, training the recruits just to watch them die. You take pride in your position within the scouts, but pride can't suffocate the growing guilt. Luckily, Levi is there to help pull you together.
warning: mentions of overthinking, anxiety, and breakdowns
@humanitys-strongest-bamf, since you wanted to be tagged once it was finished! <3 Hope it's still okay to tag you in!
word count: 2,491
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55262311
It had been a while since he had seen you, not since earlier that morning on the training grounds. You had asked if he could take over training the recruits for you, the cold and crisp morning air had felt unusually tense when you approached him, almost as if he could sense the war raging behind your eyes.
You hate having to pass up duties like that, guilt tearing you apart as you think of the long list of responsibilities that he's had to put aside for you. Not to mention that you enjoy training the cadets. You enjoy watching them grow stronger each day and doing all you can to give them the best chance they can have within the Survey Corps.
Maybe that's why you passed the morning's session along to Captain Levi instead.
His piercing eyes followed your every move as you tried to act natural. Your shaking hands tightly gripping your biceps as you crossed your arms, throwing him a sweet smile while you made the request. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned the evergrowing paperwork awaiting him on his desk had shocked you, the common tease often thrown between you going unused, yet you didn’t dare question it in case it ruined your chance of shifting routines.
You simply thanked him before quickly retreating after he slowly agreed to do so, missing the way his eyebrows crinkled with unease.
You take pride in your position as one of the squad leaders within the Scouts, a position you take very seriously and have worked hard to achieve. While you know better by now, you can’t help but get attached to the people under your command. How could you not with so many different and young personalities looking up to you for guidance? You care for them and want to see them thrive.
Yet each new attachment brings a fresh crack in your heart whenever a mission goes badly. No amount of training or lectures can prevent the inevitability of the world you live in; while you wish for the best when it comes to your cadets, sometimes the world wishes otherwise.
The world is cruel and the titans are merciless.
You have lost many soldiers under your command, some of whom you consider friends. You still see their faces when you try to close your eyes, guilt flooding through you whenever you realise you have forgotten a name. You can’t remember the last time you slept the whole night instead of being haunted by the suffocating past.
How can you train these fresh faces when you have so many to remember already?
Are you even capable of training them after losing so many?
What gives you the right to survive after so many have fallen?
The thoughts are relentless as you rush into your room, you slam the door shut behind you before diving into the worn mattress on the bed. The familiar sting of tears is the only warning you get before the dam breaks and all the unwanted feelings you had bottled up begin to rush down your cheeks.
You push your face deeper into the pillow, wishing that the thin fabric would drown out the thoughts rattling around your skull. You feel miserable as your mind torments you relentlessly and a part of you feels bitter that it couldn’t wait until nightfall before starting its assault. Your mind couldn’t even give you the decency of letting you hide your shame in the shadows.
The golden rays of sunlight flowing in through the window taunt you, giving the room a peaceful haze and ignoring the despair within. You stare up at the soft light, the river of tears silently flowing down your cheeks and onto the pillow, as you simply watch the silver specs of dust float around you.
Your tears grow and your breathing quickens, how dare you appreciate such a sight when so many you care for are now unable to?
You weakly hit the pillow, as if you could transfer the thoughts out of your mind and into its damp cotton prison instead.
You don’t know how much time has passed, but from the busy commotion echoing around the headquarters, you can guess that training has since finished. You’re not surprised when Levi eventually finds you, although you hate him seeing you like this.
He slowly walks over to you, and the sight of your tear-soaked pillow causes his heart to clench. He had a feeling something was off when you had spoken to him and he regrets not stopping you and asking then and there.
"Hey, talk to me."
Levi's voice is unusually soft as he takes in your red-rimmed eyes, slightly swollen from the hours spent crying. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern as he reaches his arm out, hovering just above your shoulder, almost as if he's conflicted on whether he should touch you or not in your current state. He quickly makes up his mind as he gives it a comforting squeeze. You timidly look up at him, finally meeting his gaze. Even through the blur of tears, you can see the worry on his face as his usual mask of composure slips.
"You'll think I'm pathetic." You say quietly. If it were anyone else, you would have ushered them out of the room by now, content to be left alone to drown in your self-doubts. If it were anyone else, it would have been an order, but it just had to be one of the few members ranking higher than you who had come to check up on you.
If you were in any other mood, you might have tried to jokingly order him away, teasing him with his rank in a way you know he pretends to hate. Instead, you simply sigh. You know he’s unlikely to drop the subject when it involves you, even more so when he’s concerned. And as much as you hate to admit it, you’ve given him multiple reasons to be.
"I won't."
The sincerity of his voice makes you freeze momentarily, part of you would be fine with him shrugging and walking away, silently agreeing and leaving you alone to deal with it. It would sting, giving you yet another thing to overthink once you get through the current bout of thoughts. Not that he would leave you in such a state, but at least that way you wouldn't have to bear the heart you dedicated with all the current cracks on display.
"You should."
"I won't. Don’t tell me how I should feel." His voice takes on a stern edge, the tone softened by the grip on your shoulder tightening before he kneels on the floor before you. His eyes are determined, unwilling to let you bottle it up, much like how he would. A habit of his that he would rather keep to himself than share, for your wellbeing.
You groan, digging the heels of your hands against your swollen eyes, trying to wipe away what remains of your tears. You take a few seconds to compose yourself and to try and quiet the whirlwind in your mind, just enough to vocalise your distress. You can feel Levi’s steel eyes following every little move you make, almost as if staring hard enough would unlock all the answers for him. “If only that would work,” you think dejectedly.
“It was just too much.” The words come out as a small whisper against your wrist. You can almost hear his mind working to connect the pieces.
“It’s just one of those days, I guess. You know the ones where you wake up and everything just feels…wrong? Then I took one look at the recruits waiting for me to train them and remembered all the other recruits that I had failed.”
His gaze softens as he takes your hands, pulling them away from your face and forcing you to look at him. Gone is the aloof and somewhat intimidating captain that the Scouts have come to know. Before you is the man behind the title of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, the side of him that only a select few get to see.
“That’s not your fault, not now, not ever. You can’t control everything that happens when we leave the Walls and I know that you know that.” He releases one of your hands so that he can gently grip your chin, tilting your head down to look him in the eyes.
Pure determination and understanding swim within the sea of silver that stares up at you. You want to hide from his gaze, feeling undeserving of it, yet his soft hand keeps you firmly in place.
“I’m not going to bullshit you and say that all the kids we’re training won’t drop like flies in a mission one day, and frankly if you wanted to hear that, you would have gone to someone else.”
“Technically, you came to me.”
The slight twitch of his eyes almost makes the corner of your lips lift.
“What I’m trying to say before you interrupt me again, is that what we can do is our damn best to prepare them. I’ve seen how you train them and it’s impressive. You have a talent when it comes to getting the brats to pay attention. We know the risks, as do they, but at least you are giving them the best fighting chance they can get. Got it?”
You stall for a moment, mind peacefully going blank at his words. You know he struggles to show the emotions he had buried deep below the wings of freedom adorning the breast of his uniform, but seeing him try for your sake causes a new lump to form in your throat.
Your silence tests his short patience and he gently tugs your chin, almost as if trying to force you to nod and accept his words. You fight the urge to jump into his arms, squeezing him tight in response. Instead, you clear your throat to try and dislodge the emotions building up.
“Got it, and you’re right. I’m sorry for being so pathetic. I know we can’t save everyone and that it’s a naive dream in the first place, which is why I always do my best to train them as much as I can.” You give him a watery smile, blinking rapidly to prevent the new wave of tears from escaping.
“I think everything I was trying to bottle up slipped out over time and snuck up on me today. Thank you, Levi.”
You receive an eye-roll in response, yet you don’t miss the way his shoulders relax, the one hand still holding onto yours giving you a warm and reassuring squeeze.
“Good. I don’t think those kids would have lasted this long if it weren’t for the rigorous training you’ve put them through.” Levi’s voice is low as he considers his words.
“Don’t forget that and don’t let this,” he gives your forehead a light flick as if to emphasise his point, “make you its prisoner. Overthinking like this will never do you any good, trust me. If you want to talk, you know where my office is. It’s not like you don’t already waste my time chatting my ear off about four-eyes’ shitty experiments or anything.
This time, you can’t hold back as a few tears begin to slide down your flushed cheeks, betrayed by the warm relief spreading through you. You scramble to wipe them away, having cried enough for the evening and maybe even a lifetime now.
“That will be twenty extra laps around the training grounds, by the way.”
You can hear the amusement in Levi’s voice, yet his face remains passive as he watches for your reaction. You throw him a glare as his eyes crinkle, clearly happy with the response he has gotten. Your self-doubts and tormenting thoughts are now a thing of the past with his subtle distractions, something you slowly realise was his plan all along. If annoying someone out of their misery was a sport, you figure Levi would have dozens of gold medals by now.
“Why? Is this for getting you to train my squad earlier?” Your voice is raised in pitch, the confusion evident as you cross your arms.
“No, that’s for calling yourself pathetic in my presence. Twice.”
“I’m learning to make sure you’re not in range when I do so.” You mumble, unaware that the man before you has caught your private words.
Now it’s Levi’s turn to fix you with a glare of his own, clearly not amused with the idea. You begin to fidget under the silence, wondering if you had taken it too far, too soon. Before your still anxious mind can replay the last minute, he flicks your forehead again, harder than before.
“That's thirty laps now. I’ll make it fifty if I hear a single complaint.”
You release a dramatic sigh, showing your displeasure with the command without digging a deeper hole for yourself so soon. You anxiously break eye contact, earning a small eyebrow raise in response as you fiddle with the frayed blanket beside you.
“I’ve changed my mind,” his gruff voice cuts through the silence that fell between you, catching your nervous attention once more.
“Sixty.”
“By the walls, Levi. Stop making it higher, I’m not going to complain!” You throw your hands into your lap in exhaustion, your previous breakdown having sapped any strength you had for the day.
“I just… I wanted to thank you again, for checking up on me and for making me feel better.”
He clicks his tongue in response, his hand coming up to ruffle your hair, before giving one of the strands a playful tug. You groan at the action, playfully swatting him away while rolling your eyes.
“If you want to thank me properly, then you can go and make us some tea for the evening. Bring it to my office once you’re done. Bring a book as well, I need to finish this paperwork tonight and I don’t care for whatever trouble Hange has recently caused.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” You give him a lighthearted salute before rushing to the door, not even trying to hide the excitement at the idea of spending the evening curled up in his office, drifting off to the sound of his pen gliding across paper.
Once you reach the door, his low voice catches your attention once more, rooting you in place.
“Oi, I mean it.”
“What? The stupid amount of laps you will throw on me if you hear me complaining?”
“Tch, not that. I meant it when I said you could come to me. Now don’t you have tea to be making?”
You hold back a retort, feeling too happy to bicker with him, even in a playful manner. Instead, you simply nod before silently moving towards the kitchen, your heart feeling lighter than it has in months.
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Can I request MM! Leo and a reader who has had a big crush on him, but ended up being heartbroken after seeing him with April at Prom? Being completely oblivious towards their feelings, but eventually started to catch them too just as the reader starts to lose them?
"You were my everything, I was your second best" - Laufey
LOVE YOU TONS, MA💙🦈
Crushes and Prom Dates (Angst)
MM!Leonardo x reader
A/N: Mama has cooked, and she hopes you’re ready to eat!💙
Warnings: Hurt feelings? And spelling.
You knew he had feelings for April. You had known from the very start. It was not hard for anyone to see. With the way he would tense up when she came around, the blush that would rush to his face whenever she teased or complimented him, or his nervous laughter when he was talking to her. Leo had a big crush on April, and everybody knew that, with the expedition of April herself. Everybody saw the way the mutant turtle would sigh after her, and his brothers loudly teased him whenever they got the chance. Yet, you still hoped for a chance. You still held a glimmer of hope that it wasn’t true, and that Leo in fact didn’t harbor such deep feelings for your friend.
Ever since you first met Leo and his brothers, the first day they attended Eastman High, you felt this tingling sensation deep within you, as your crush on the oldest mutant turtle started growing. You couldn’t help it. There was just something about him. His sweet manners, and his sometimes awkward and shy tendencies. He was adorable. But not even you could overlook the obvious feelings he had for April. You could stand between the two of them, and Leo’s eyes would still be on April. Yet she would never look back at him. Kind of the same way you would look at Leo, yet his eyes would be locked on her, without ever meeting yours. And therefore you kept the hope that one day Leo would give up his longing looks at April, and let his eyes fall on you.
Even as you went to prom without a date, you hoped deep within that this was the night that Leo would see you in a different light. With both of you coming to prom without a date, it gave you an excuse to spend time together. But all of those dreams were shattered the moment you stepped into the prom, seeing Leo and April dancing the robot dance together, laughing and smiling. That was the moment you realized that there was no hope. Leo was into April, not you. He had been so ever since you met him, and it would most likely stay like that. It stung you quite a bit, and as the night continued on, you felt worse by the moment, watching them have fun together. Therefore you left way earlier than you had anticipated, not telling either Leo, April or the others where you left.
After that evening, things were much different between you and Leo. Or more, for you whenever, you saw Leo. You started avoiding him, not wishing to see him and make the hurting in your heart even worse. You could only imagine how terrible it would be for you, if you one day saw him and April together. You could be standing with one of his brothers, talking about whatever, but as soon as you saw him, you would make up an excuse, and leave as soon as possible. This went on for several days, and before you knew it, it had been weeks since you and Leo last spoke.
As time went on, you found yourself thinking less and less about Leo. However, it took quite some time before you got to that point. For the first few days you had to fight the urge of talking to Leo. There was once a time where you would do pretty much everything in order to talk to him. Text him, call him, follow him around on school grounds. And for the first few days, you felt the urge to do that again, go back to your old habits. But you resisted, not wishing to hurt yourself further than you needed to.
You went on with your life, getting into the hobbies you felt like you had forgotten. You spend more time with school work, and hung out with friends when the opportunity came up. The thought of Leo took up a smaller and smaller space inside your head, and before you knew it, you found yourself looking for other love interests in your life, soon finding yourself talking with a guy from Eastman High’s football team. And for a time, you forgot all about Leo.
For Leo however, it was a different story. After he had invited April to prom, he thought that was it. It was locked and loaded. It was a date. He was interested in her, and she was interested in him. It was as simple as that, and for a time, Leo finally felt himself relax a little around April. Leo even allowed himself to do silly dances with April, not fearing what she would think of him. And she danced along! Leo could feel his heart sing with happiness and pride. He was actually going somewhere with April. This was almost too good to be true! And he was right…
“This is as friends, right?”, April had asked, leaving Leo frozen mid-motion. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He had no other option than to agree with her. Yes, they were at prom together as friends. And with that conversation, Leo could no longer deny what he had hoped to be false - April just wasn’t interested in him. She saw him as a friend. And just that. A friend.
That revelation had left Leo stumped for some time. For a few days he was closed off, and not as talkative as he usually would have been, all while he worked through the emotions he was feeling. He was feeling hurt. Not that he was going to blame April for it, she had every right to not be interested, but it still hurt. And it didn’t help one bit that you suddenly seemed to be avoiding him, leaving whatever you were doing with an excuse, as soon as he came around. He was already sad enough of what had happened at prom, he did not need this to happen as well.
But as days turned into weeks, and Leo saw less and less of you, he found himself wondering. He was confused, his confusion growing greater than the hurt he had felt for April. As he saw less of you, he started finding himself looking for you. He would go to school everyday, thinking that today you would come up to him, like you normally did, asking him some random question, before following him to class. Just like you used to. It was sort of nice. Whenever a door at school opened, he would look up, hoping it was you that came through. With every sound of his phone, he hoped it was you texting him. But it wasn’t. You still haven’t texted him in weeks… You haven't spoken to him in weeks… The more Leo thought about that, the more he found himself confused. And once again, the hurt came up. A greater hurt than the one he had felt with April. With April, Leo at least knew it deep inside, even though he didn’t want to admit it. But whatever was happening to you, came totally out of the blue, and it left Leo feeling strange. This strange feeling inside of him, that he couldn’t explain. You had never made him feel so conflicted before. However, it was just a matter of time before Leo realized what those feelings meant.
Leo had stayed at the school longer than usual, helping April with her school news. No matter what Apri had said at prom, she was still his friend, and he still intended on helping her. However now he could finally relax while doing so, not being worried about what feelings she may, may not have for him. It was a relief - he did not have to worry about April's feelings anymore.
Leo continued to feel that relief as he packed his stuff, before he made his way down the empty hallways, towards the main exit. Here he was prepared to walk out to the fresh afternoon air, before making his way home. But the moment Leo stepped out the doors, he was met by a sight that stopped him dead in his tracks. There you stood on the steps, with your arms wrapped around the neck of one of the football jocks, a happy smile on your face as the two of you kissed.
If April had made Leo hurt, then you had directly harmed him, making his heart break and bleed. He lost his breath at the sight, feeling cold shock run through his body. So many feelings was running through him. It was as if time stood still, yet his mind was running to catch up with what was happening. Then finally, as the two of you broke apart, smiling at each other, Leo finally realized what was happening. You had given up on him. You had moved on with your life, seeing what else was out there. Leo felt ashamed and stupid. For so long he had only had eyes for April, that he hadn’t noticed the way you had been looking at him, or how hard you had been working for his attention. But now it was too late. You had moved on, and Leo finally realized blind he had been. Leo did not blame you for moving on. He only blamed himself, for not realizing it any sooner. His friendship with you was truly one of the best things that had happened in his life, and he had fucked up. So now he was left standing, and watching, as another was taking up the space he once held in your heart.
Leo could not help but kick himself mentally, over and over again when he came home that day. Fucking stupid crushes and stupid prom dates. He should just have asked you. Had he asked you, it would probably have been him you had kissed on the school steps. But sadly, it wasn’t. And now Leo was forced to look at you, the same way you had been looking at him for so long, hoping that you one day would look back at him the same way you did before.
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Sex on shrooms?? Tyy!
a/n hihi yes! i kinda changed it to just high on weed i hope that’s okay😞 i’ve only done shrooms like once and it fucking sucked and didn’t do anything so🙏🏻 british shops mention bc .. idk anything about canada so 😒✋🏻 not proof read yet bbs
I ACC GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS SOORRRYYYYY.
warnings : p in v, public sex, unprotected sex, drug use (i kinda forgot about this as i was writing😞).
———- nsfw ————-
You and your friend Hamzah have been getting high together for a while. Honestly, you both dislike doing it with anyone else since no one seems to get your guys humour. You guys usually do it either at home or in a random empty car park but today is a little different. You guys decided to eat an edible before going shopping. both of your guys’ tolerance is good so this shouldn’t be a problem but instead a good time.
“You feel anything yet?” you ask, looking over at Hamzah walking besides you. You don’t really feel anything yet.
“Nah I’m good, i’m STARVING though” he replies and you can’t tell if this is normal Hamzah or if he’s already gotten the munchies.
After a few more minutes walking, you had stopped at a stand to buy a bag of lollipops you thought looked really colourful. You claimed it would “heal your childhood” but really you could just eat anything put infront of your face right now and they looked really fucking good. You unwrap one of the lollipops realising it’s a lot bigger than you expected which makes you giggle at how you never realised this.
“WAIT HAMZAH” you say a little too enthusiastically. “we HHHHAVVVVEEEE to go in there, it’s my favourite, please?” you look at him. Hamzah absolutely hates going shopping with you because you love trying things on and end up either buying everything, (which he’ll have to carry around.) or get nothing at all and waste his time. At this point you both look at each other with no thoughts behind your eyes.
“Ight you go in, ima go get some food, i’ll come find you after though.” he says immediately walking away. You keep looking at him walking away, unable to get your eyes off of him. You giggle to yourself at how he’s walking, he looks so fucking funny from this angle you can’t help but keep cackling.
Hamzah eventually hears you and turns around, he starts laughing at the way you’re almost falling over from laughing so much. He doesn’t even question what’s so funny, he just gets it, he gets you.
You guys have been friends for a while but sometimes you feel like maybe you could feel more? It’s confusing, he doesn’t indicate ANYTHING, he just acts the same way with everyone so you never wanted to risk saying anything so you don’t accidentally ruin the friendship with your dumb feelings. Hamzah eventually keeps walking towards maccies but you can’t get yourself to move your feet into primark. So you just stand there.
you start overthinking but quickly get distracted by the thought of him walking funny.
You laugh at yourself walking into the shop. You have never felt so fascinated over the clothes, you don’t know if it’s because of the edible or not but everything just looks so bright and colourful. You end up grabbing a handful of clothes before going to the next rack.
After a few minutes your mind wanders to Hamzah again, wishing he would just show his emotions a bit more, he’s very closed off. You keep thinking and keep walking before everything stops. You spot these really pretty corset tops that you just have to try on. You kind of forget everything else you had already picked up and picked up some corsets to try on, in all different colours. You jump in excitement, running into the changing room.
After trying 2 of the corsets you get a call from Hamzah.
“Hewo?” you reply, mouth full with the lolipop you bought earlier.
“Y/n? where are you?” he asks through the phone, making you laugh at the reminder of his walk. You let him know where you are as he tells you he’s coming.
You put on a different corset which through your eyes earlier looked your size but once you put it on it squeezed the fuck out of you and your poor boobs. You got pretty privileged in the chest department, so they look almost ridiculous being pushed up this much. You start panicking at the fact it’s squeezing you so hard and you can’t undo it, making it hard to catch your breath.
“H- Hamzah” you breathe out “h-help!”
After a few seconds he comes in and takes one look at you before laughing.
“it’s not funnnyyyy” you cry out, “help meeeee”
he takes another minute to laugh before helping you up. He thinks to himself about how dramatic you are for falling on the floor.
You get up with your back to him so he can help open the corset, you both looking to the mirror in front of you. You never noticed how big and tall he looks compared to you. your eyes lay on his through your reflection, the energy in the room suddenly shifting as his eyes gaze down to your chest.
Internally you’re screaming, but you can’t let him know that so you act casual. keeping your eyes on his as he takes your figure in. You’re just in a skirt and the corset that’s way too tight on you.
“Hamzah” you whisper.
“y- yea?” he says, slowly gazing his eyes up to your face again.
“I know i’m hot” you tease, “but can you please take this thing off me. I can’t breathe”
You both laugh, easing the tension.
“Can I.. Um.” he says gesturing your the top.
“please” you breathe out.
He turns you around slowly, looking down at you, meeting your eyes looking up at him through your eyelashes.
his hands move down to meet the corset, brushing past your waist then onto the end of the corset to start undoing it. You look down at his hands, looking so delicate undoing the corset, giving you goosebumps at the sight.
You finally feel like you can breathe as he starts undoing from the bottom up, the cold air hitting your stomach for what feels like the first time. He doesn’t break eye contact the whole time, it feels so intimate to be so close to him, you can feel yourself growing wetter by the second.
“you can um-“ hamzah says awkwardly, removing his hands from you “undo the rest right?” his eyes flicking from your eyes to your chest. You sigh in disappointment, you thought maybe he wanted to undress you, or be with you.
“Y- yea sure” you reply, removing your eyes from him as he starts walking away.
“Hamzah wait!” you say, causing him to turn and face you once again.
You don’t say anything though, you don’t know if it’s the weed or the fact you’re so incredibly horny but you’re feeling bold. You look at his face from across the changing room, slowly undoing the last few clasps of the corset, revealing your bare chest. His eyes fall down to your boobs before looking back up to you.
you feel your breathing getting heavier as you try to search his face for anything. But nothing. He gives you NOTHING. You roll your eyes at how stupid you feel, thinking he really wanted to be with you.
You scoff, grabbing the shirt you previously had on. “This is so fucking stupid.”, you feel your eyes well up with tears and you attempt to put the shirt on but getting all tangled.
“FUCK!” you shouted in frustration, giving up before feeling hands helping you into the shirt.
“Y/n” hamzah says, “what is going on?”
“I don’t know” you sigh “i thought maybe, you wanted this, but I guess I thought wrong. You can go, I’ll pack up here and get an uber home.”
He doesn’t say anything though, he just looks at you. He looks confused as ever, and you hate that you let your stupid feelings ruin this friendship.
Before you can say another word he moves closer towards you, grabbing the end of your shirt and taking it off you. You look up at him through your tears confused.
He wipes the tears away with his thumbs, stroking a piece of loose hair behind your ear, looking down at you.
Without another second passing he lowers his face to yours, placing a slow kiss on your lips. You feel yourself relaxing into the kiss.
He pulls away to look at you before sitting down on the changing room bench, pulling your arm so you stand in between his legs.
without taking his eyes off you he places his warm mouth onto one of your boobs, swirling his tongue against it, making you grow wetter.
“H- hamzah” you whimper out, placing your hand on the back of his head. Your head falls back from pleasure as he grabs the other nipple giving the same amount of attention as the other.
“mhh, so good” he says, pulling at your waist so you’re straddling his lap. You’re just in a skirt and panties so you immediately feel his hard or beneath you. You lower yourself to try and get some friction.
Hamzah clearly likes this too as he moves your hips against him faster, making you both moan. His mouth going from your breast to your neck. You grow needier at the minute, basically dripping through your panties for Hamzah.
“P-please!” you whimper out, moving faster and faster.
He wastes no time, pulling your panties to the side and his shorts down before slamming up into you. You moan at the contact before his hand slams onto your mouth.
“shhhh, we’re in public” he says, your hips moving down to take his full size. You completely forgot the fact you’re probably surrounded by a few people.
You continue to grind into him, moaning into his hand, his other hand reaching to your ass, making you go faster.
You keep at this pace until you feel your high approaching, Hamzah removing his hand on your mouth, replacing it with his mouth.
He kisses you roughly, exploring your mouth with his tongue, groaning into your mouth as you slam down into him.
You whimper into his mouth as you clench your walls around his cock, feeling him coming inside of you. Your head falls into his shoulder, giving it a slight bite as you ride out your high.
You both sit like that for a while, him still deep inside of you, some of his cum slowly leaking out.
“Can i kiss you?” Hamzah asks, looking up at you.
“I thought you didn’t .. want this?” you reply.
“No y/n, you got it all wrong” he places his hands on either sides of your head. “This is all I’ve wanted for a long time”
“Well you didn’t act like it!” you whisper back, looking down.
“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship so i just suppressed it.” his voice slightly breaking.
“yes.” you say
“w- what?”
“yes you can kiss me” you smile, leaning down meeting his lips.
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Venti, Vidi, Vici - One
Pairing: Rolan/Tav (Tav is AMAB. Eventual use of He/They pronouns.)
Warnings: Angst.
Word Count: 638. Read it on AO3.
A tenday before he started working at Grove Coffee, they buried his father.
It had been an uneventful affair; himself, his mother, and the gravedigger - lowering his casket into the graveyard in the Lower City. His mother wept, ragged and raw, an ache that would never quite go away. Cassius just stared forward, jaw set and lips pressed into a thin line. He had never been particularly good at processing feelings, preferring to pack them down tightly and forget they existed. A locked door, a closed chest - containers for the hurt. His fears, his sorrows, they can’t get to him if they’re closed away in a room crafted specifically for them.
Seven days after the funeral, his mother tells him over breakfast about the opening.
“I know it’s not glamorous,” She’s spooning honey onto her muesli,and Cassius is paying more attention to the way it pools against the oats than he is her voice. “But it might be good for you. To get out a little, I mean. Maybe you’ll make friends.”
“I don’t think people generally take up a job at a coffee shop to make friends.” He offers dryly.
He knows, deep down, that it has nothing to do with socialization. His father is gone, and his mother unable to work; thus, the burden comes down to him. But she won’t say as much - always so soft in her delivery, she’d never been able to bring herself to be blunt with him. Sometimes he wishes she would be - perhaps it would be more merciful in the long run.
“Still.” She looks up at him, and the weight of the thing settles firmly in his chest; a silent plea, a quiet request for him to acquiesce. “It’ll be good for you.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t really think he has any right to, honestly. He’s far past 100, settled into his adult name, and still living at home. Her generosity has been boundless - slogging through the motions of a job in food service is, frankly, the least he can do.
They offer him the job on the spot - not that he had any doubts; the qualifications were hardly arduous. The manager is a bubbly tiefling woman with soft white hair that is far, far too kind for the field she’s working in. She introduces herself as Bex, explains that she owns the place with her husband, Danis. She rambles about the culture of the place, how they’re all like a family, how Cassius will fit right in. He doubts it, but smiles and nods and shakes hands like he’s expected to.
Going through the motions. He’s remarkably good at that.
He’s told to come in the next day around noon.
“Training shouldn’t take more than a week or two,” She hasn’t stopped smiling once since he entered the shop, and his cheeks ache from trying to match it. “But don’t worry if it takes you longer. Ikaron might give you a bit of trouble, but he means well, really.”
He feels like he should carry some scrap of pride on the walk home - employment is a rewarding thing, an opportunity. But any hope of being optimistic about it all is firmly washed away when he considers what could have been. His family’s fall from grace - once nobility, now destined for a life as laborers. They could have had it all, had it not been for his father.
His father who is now food for the worms.
His stomach is in knots as he walks through the front door, but he matches his mother’s smile and open arms with the same enthusiasm that he always does. She didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did, but her most of all.
If taking care of her comes at the price of making lattes for a living, then so be it.
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I hate how…complex life is sometimes. How things can be good and bad simultaneously.
And I’m just going for full transparency here bc 🤷♀️ tumblr is basically my diary lmao
Yesterday I messaged my best friend and asked if she would mind terribly if I didn’t do a speech at her wedding because I was having honest to god panic attacks every time I thought about it and it was making me dread the entire thing and I hated dreading my best friends wedding. And I knew she would be upset but hoped that she would recognise I wasn’t exaggerating and that this was really hard for me too.
And she did. She said she wouldn’t make me do something that was clearly distressing me so much even though it was upsetting that I wouldn’t be.
And I spent the whole day worrying I’d made the wrong choice and crying and berating myself for being an awful friend. While simultaneously feeling so much relief it was dizzying. Which made me feel even more guilty.
And then tonight I decided to try my bridesmaid dress on again so I would remember how I preferred it tied etc and could just remind myself how I look in it. And I felt a glimmer of excitement that I haven’t felt since we went wedding dress shopping back in September. And it felt so nice to feel that again.
And then I realised the dress is too damn long. And I only have 3 days to sort that out. And with the speech still weighing on me I would have gone into full on meltdown mode. But instead I just feel okay about it? I’ll figure it out? If the dress touches the floor I’ll make it work and it’ll be okay?
And that’s when I really 100% knew I’d made the right call.
It sucks that I upset my best friend a week before her wedding. I hate that. I hate it so much. And I know there’d be so many people who’d say I should have just sucked it up and been a good friend. But those people would have no idea what a panic attack feels like and how much of a toll having them multiple times a week takes on your body. And I just wish I’d said something sooner because this feels…so good even though I still feel bad??
So anyway. The fact that things can be both good and bad at the same time is so weird and confusing and I kinda hate it but…
I feel lighter than I have in months
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there is nothing more heartbreaking as an older sister for your younger brother to call you at 3:30 am drunk and crying because there’s too much pressure on him and too many high expectations that he feels like he’s not living up to and not being able to do anything about it 🥲
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So I was feeling kinda depressed since my blog kinda dies when I’m focusing on my health and irl life, and character development, writing and art takes a lot of time to create something impressive and coherent.
so since I need notes for my blog to stay alive while I work on stuff i thought I’d make a cool sans au to show everyone on tumblr so I get thousands of notes and really cool fanart and get featured in tiktoks and stuff with my character.
Since this is all it takes to become famous in the undertale fandom I thought I’d just throw away all the research I’m doing and just go with what works yanno?
😳 maybe I’ll draw horny art of him next, that’ll reel in the notes.
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I think the worst part is that i still love and care about people even when it hurts and i wish i didn’t
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sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive
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there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn
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messy sketch of the girlboss for today 🪡🍃🐈⬛
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