The stadium wasn’t quiet anymore. It was roaring. Loud, messy, electric—everything hitting at once as the Sunrisers Hyderabad sealed the win. You were already on your feet before the final moment even fully registered.
“OH MY GOD—” you shouted, grabbing the railing of the dugout as the team rushed the field. Someone yelled, someone jumped, water bottles flew, and you didn’t think—you just ran. Straight out of the dugout, onto the field, heart racing, adrenaline everywhere. “SHIVANG!”
you yelled first, spotting Shivang Kumar. He barely had time to react before you crashed into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “WE WON!” you shouted. “WE WON!” he yelled back, lifting you slightly off the ground. You laughed, breathless, pulling back—only to turn and run straight into Abhishek Sharma.
“CENTURY BOY!” you screamed, throwing your arms around him. “OH HELLO,” he laughed, catching you easily. “Finally giving me respect?” “You were insane,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Like actually insane.” “Say it again.” “Don’t push it.” He grinned, clearly way too happy with himself. “Bhai aaj hero ban gaya,” Nitish Kumar Reddy shouted from behind. “Always was,” Abhishek shot back. “Chup kar,” you said, laughing.
Around you, everything blurred into celebration. Ishan Kishan was already jumping into someone else, Harshal Patel and Liam Livingstone were hyping each other up, Travis Head clapped someone on the back laughing while Pat Cummins just stood there smiling—calm, but proud. Even Heinrich Klaasen looked more relaxed than usual, nodding as teammates passed by. You were still smiling like an idiot when Abhishek suddenly grabbed your wrist. “Chal.” “Where?” “Handshake line.” “Why am I going?” “Because I said so.” “Great reason.” Before you could argue more, he was already dragging you along.
The Mumbai Indians players were lined up, exchanging handshakes, pats on the back, quick conversations. Of course they all knew each other—same circuits, same team, same life. “Good game, bro.” “Next time.” Abhishek moved down the line casually, still holding onto you like it was completely normal. You tried to pull your hand back. “Let go—” “No.” “Abhishek—” “Relax.”
You were about to argue—and then there he was. Tilak Varma. Closer now. Way closer than before. Abhishek didn’t even hesitate. “Tilak,” he said easily, shaking his hand. “Good game.” “Yeah, you too,” Tilak replied, calm as ever. And then his eyes shifted to you. Again. Abhishek squeezed your wrist slightly. “Y/N,” he said casually, like he hadn’t planned this entire thing, “this is Tilak.” You resisted the urge to glare at him.
Instead, you looked at Tilak. Up close, it was worse. “Hi,” you said. Smooth. Normal. Controlled. “Hi,” he replied. Also normal—which somehow made it more intense. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then you gestured vaguely, “Nice… uh… game.” You internally cringed. Nice game? Really? He smiled slightly. “Thanks. You too.” You blinked. “I didn’t play.” “I know.” Oh. Abhishek was living for this. “Okay bye,” he said suddenly, dropping your wrist and walking off. You turned. “Abhishek—” Gone. Of course.
Later, the field had calmed down. Most of the formalities were done, and players from both teams were just standing around, talking in small groups. You were with Ishan Kishan now, who was mid-conversation with him—Tilak. “Arre bhai, long time,” Ishan was saying. “Yeah, seriously,” Tilak nodded. You were about to quietly step away when Ishan grabbed your arm. “Y/N.” You froze. “What?” “Come.” “No.” “Come.” “Ishan—” Too late.
He pulled you right into the conversation. “This is the Y/N I was telling you about,” he said. “I hate you,” you muttered under your breath. “I know.” Tilak looked at you again. Not surprised this time. Just steady. “Hi. Again,” he said. “Hi. Again,” you replied. Ishan clapped his hands once. “Great. You both know each other. Perfect.” “Ishan—” “I’ll just—go.” And then he actually left. You stared after him. “He’s so annoying.” Tilak let out a small laugh. “Yeah, he does that.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “Sorry about that.” “For what?” “For… them.” He shrugged lightly. “I’m used to it.” “Same,” you said.
A small pause. Not awkward—just quiet. “You’re always with them?” he asked. “Yeah,” you said. “They kind of adopted me.” “I can see that.” “They don’t give me a choice.” He smiled again, softer this time. “I noticed.” Your heart did that weird thing again. “You were watching earlier,” he added. You froze. “I—” you started, then stopped, because lying felt pointless. “…maybe.” “Hmm.” “Don’t ‘hmm’ me.” He laughed quietly, and somehow that felt like progress.
Back in the SRH group, Pat Cummins clapped his hands once to get everyone’s attention. “Alright,” he said, loud enough for the group around him. “Little thing tonight.” Everyone looked at him. “Nothing crazy,” he added. “Just a small party at the hotel. 11:30.” “Finally,” Travis Head said. “About time,” Liam Livingstone added. “Sab aayenge?” Harshal Patel asked. “Yeah,” Pat nodded. “Even the Mumbai guys.” That got a reaction. “Full scene hoga,” Shivang Kumar grinned. “Control mein rehna,” Nitish Kumar Reddy said, already laughing. “No promises,” you muttered. Ishan appeared beside you again. “You’re coming.” “That wasn’t a question.” “It’s not.”
Across the field, you could already see some of the Mumbai Indians players talking—Rohit Sharma, Hardik Pandya, Suryakumar Yadav, Jasprit Bumrah, Trent Boult—and him. Tilak. Like he hadn’t moved far from your thoughts at all. “Stop staring,” Abhishek whispered suddenly. “I’m not.” “You are.” “Shut up.” He smirked. “11:30, huh?” You didn’t respond, because one thing was very, very clear now—tonight wasn’t going to be simple.
By 11:30, everything had softened. The hotel hall was dim, music low and warm, people in pyjamas and shorts like it was a sleepover instead of a team party. The Sunrisers Hyderabad boys were everywhere—laughing, drinking, some already dancing. The Mumbai Indians guys had blended in just as easily. It didn’t feel like two teams. It felt like one messy group that knew each other too well.
You were with Kavya Maran and Aditi Hundia, half-laughing, half-watching the chaos. Across the room, Abhishek Sharma was fully in his element. “OYEEE!” he yelled, spinning like an idiot. Ishan Kishan tried to pull him back. “Bhai bas kar, gir jaayega!”
No roaring crowd, no pressure, no match tension—just scattered noise, music playing somewhere in the background, staff walking around, and the occasional shout from players warming up.
This was your favourite time.
Before everything got serious.
You were sprawled across the dugout bench like you owned it—which, according to Ishan Kishan, you basically did.
“Shift ho thoda,” he said, nudging your leg. “This isn’t your bedroom.”
“Then stop treating it like your living room,” you shot back without moving.
“I actually play here.”
“And I supervise.”
From the other side, Abhishek Sharma let out a laugh. “Supervise kya? Tu bas baithi rehti hai.”
“Emotional support is a full-time job,” you said calmly.
“Tu toh emotional damage hai,” he muttered.
You kicked him. Hard.
“ABE—” he grabbed his shin. “Pagal hai kya?”
“Deserved.”
A few seats down, Nitish Kumar Reddy and Shivang Kumar were in the middle of some stupid bit, trying to balance a water bottle on Shivang’s head.
“Don’t move,” Nitish said seriously.
“I’m not moving!”
“You’re breathing too much.”
“How do I not breathe, idiot?”
“Control kar!”
The bottle fell. Both of them burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing in the world. You shook your head. “Actual clowns.”
“Better than you,” Shivang shot back.
“Impossible.”
Near the edge of the dugout, Praful Hinge and Sakib Hussain were whispering like they were planning a heist.
You narrowed your eyes at them. “Kya chal raha hai?”
“Nothing,” Praful said immediately.
“Definitely something,” Sakib grinned.
You got up and walked over, dropping down between them. “Include me or I expose you.”
“Betrayal,” Praful said.
“Loyalty has conditions.”
Sakib leaned in. “After the match, we sneak out.”
You stared at him. “You’ve said that three times already.”
“And one day it will happen.”
“With your planning? Never.”
“Wow.” Praful shook his head. “She has no faith in us.”
“You’ve given me no reason to.”
Behind you, you heard English.
“You guys are unbelievable.”
You turned to see Travis Head leaning back casually, watching everyone like it was a live show. Next to him, Pat Cummins crossed his arms, amused.
“This is what you deal with every day?” Travis asked you.
“Unfortunately.”
Pat nodded. “Tough life.”
“Very,” you said, deadpan.
From nearby, Liam Livingstone was mid-argument with Harshal Patel again.
“I’m telling you, that’s not how it works—”
“Tu phir se shuru ho gaya?” Harshal groaned.
“Mate, it’s basic logic!”
“Logic tera dimaag mein hi rehta hai.” You laughed under your breath. Some things never changed.
At the far end, Heinrich Klaasen sat quieter than the rest, gloves in hand, observing more than talking. Beside him, Aniket Verma and Salil Arora were talking low, occasionally glancing over at the chaos and smiling.
Everyone had their place. And somehow... You were part of all of it.
You ended up back near Ishan and Abhishek again, because you always did.
Ishan handed you a drink without asking. “Pee le.”
“You’re obsessed with my hydration.”
“Because you forget.”
“I don’t forget.”
“You literally do.”
Abhishek leaned forward suddenly, squinting out toward the field. “They’re here.”
“Kaun?” you asked.
He didn’t answer.
And neither did Ishan.
So you followed their line of sight.
And that’s when you saw them.
The Mumbai Indians players, scattered across the ground, warming up, stretching, talking.
You weren’t really paying attention—
Until your eyes stopped.
On him.
Tilak Varma.
He wasn’t doing anything special.
Just standing there, adjusting his gloves, listening to someone beside him.
But—
You didn’t look away.
Didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet again.
“...Y/N?” Ishan said slowly.
No response.
Abhishek followed your gaze.
And then—
“Oh.”
You blinked. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Start.”
“Tu usko dekh rahi hai.”
“I’m not.”
“Seedha jhooth.”
“I’m literally just looking—”
“At him,” he finished.
Ishan smirked slightly. “Interesting.”
“Both of you shut up.”
But they didn’t.
Of course they didn’t.
Abhishek stood up.
You immediately grabbed his wrist. “Sit down.”
“Nahi.”
“Abhishek—”
“Relax.”
“I am not relaxing.”
He gently pulled his hand away. “Bas aa raha hoon.”
Your stomach dropped. “Mat ja—”
Too late.
He was already walking out.
Straight toward him.
“Yeh ladka na…” you muttered, dragging your hands over your face. “I swear, main isko maar dungi.”
Ishan leaned back, enjoying this way too much. “No you won’t.”
“I will.”
“Let’s see.”
Out on the field, Abhishek reached him. Tilak looked up, a little confused at first—then relaxed as they started talking. From here, you couldn’t hear a word. But you could see enough.
Abhishek talking. Tilak listening.
Then Abhishek saying something—
Something that made Tilak glance past him. Toward the dugout. Toward— You.
“Shit,” you whispered.
“Too late now,” Ishan said. Abhishek turned slightly.
And pointed. Directly. At you.
“OH MY GOD,” you hissed. “I’m actually going to kill him. Pagal hai kya woh?”
Ishan was laughing. “You’re done.” Tilak followed the direction. Slowly. Until his eyes met yours.
And this time— He didn’t look away.
Everything else blurred. The noise. The team. The jokes. All of it. Gone. Just that one look.
And then- He smiled. Small. Easy.
Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just completely ruined your ability to think straight. You forgot to breathe for a second. Actually forgot.
And somewhere behind you—
“GAME OVER,” Nitish shouted.
“Bhai she’s gone,” Shivang added.
“Arre yaar,” Praful groaned.
Sakib just laughed. “Caught.”
“Shut UP,” you snapped, not even turning around.
But you didn’t look away either. Not until Tilak did.
Abhishek came jogging back like he hadn’t just caused a life-altering moment.
You stood up immediately.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”
“Relax.”
“I will not relax. Kya bola tu usko?”
“Bas introduce kiya.”
“Introduce KIYA?”
“Haan.”
You stared at him. “Without me?”
“Confidence build kar raha hoon tera.”
“I will end you.”
Ishan stepped in, still smiling. “He smiled, by the way.”
“I saw,” Shivang said.
“Same,” Nitish added.
“Bro,” Sakib laughed.
Praful shook his head. “She’s finished.”
You closed your eyes for a second.
“Sab chup ho jao. All of you.”
No one listened. Of course they didn’t.
Because for the first time, you weren’t just part of the dugout. You weren’t just one of them. You were... aware. Of someone outside it.
And the worst part?
Across the field— You could still feel it. Like that look hadn’t ended. Like it had just started something.
ok hiiii, i have like one day before my finals and im gonna write about my current obsession, this is for all my indian girlies. got some cricketer stories coming to you.
Which was annoying, because you wanted to hate it instantly and the heating made that difficult.
Sam held the door for you as you stepped down the stairs—coat swinging, boots clicking, expression unimpressed even though your eyes flicked over every ancient book and artifact like a crow assessing shiny loot.
Dean was already at the map table. Arms crossed. Jaw tight enough to snap. Great.
Your welcoming committee was a man who wanted you dead.
“You’re kidding me,” he muttered the moment he saw you. “She’s staying?”
“Just for a bit,” Sam said, hopeful. “Until she finds her feet.”
“I have feet,” you replied flatly. “Several pairs of very expensive boots, in fact.”
Dean stared.
“You know that’s not—Never mind. Sam. No.”
Sam sighed. “Dean—”
“No.” Dean pointed at you like you were a raccoon rummaging through his trash. “She’s not living here.”
You raised a brow. “Relax, Winchester. I’m not planning on nesting.” Sam coughed to hide a laugh. Dean scowled harder.
An hour later, Sam showed you the kitchen.
Dean followed—not to be welcoming, but to supervise, like you were going to steal their silverware.
You opened the fridge, and something caught your eye.
A pie. Neat. Homemade. Definitely Dean’s. You grabbed a fork.
Dean’s voice snapped across the room like a whip.
“Don’t you dare.” You were already taking a bite.
The world froze. Sam’s eyes widened. Dean looked like you’d kicked his dog.
You chewed slowly. Thoughtfully. Then shrugged. “…Meh.”
Dean’s entire soul left his body.
“‘Meh’?” he repeated, voice dropping low and dangerous. “Meh?”
“I’ve had better,” you said lightly.
“By who? Satan?”
“You, apparently.”
Sam turned around to hide a smile. Dean was vibrating. You placed the fork down with exaggerated delicacy.
“It’s dry.”
“Get out.”
“There it is,” you said brightly. “Knew you’d say it eventually.” Dean stepped closer, shoulders squared like he was ready to throw you out physically.
Sam wedged himself between you. “Dean—she helped on that hunt—”
“She almost cost us the hunt,” Dean snapped.
“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You almost cost me my head.”
Dean leaned in, eyes dark. “That can still be arranged.”
You smirked. “Try.”
Sam threw his hands up. “Okay! Okay. Everyone sit down before one of you ends up actually killing the other.”
Dean didn’t sit. You didn’t either. This was war.
Two hours later, Sam slammed a folder onto the table.
“Vamps. Another nest. Nearby. And since you two refuse to stop glaring at each other long enough to breathe…”
He looked between you both like a disappointed parent.
“…you’re teaming up.”
“What?”
“Absolutely not.”
You and Dean said it at the same time—horrified.
Sam folded his arms.
“You either go together, or I send you both home. Separately.”
You scoffed. Dean growled. Sam won.
——
Dean wouldn’t even open the car door for you.
You let yourself in. Purposely tracked a little dirt on the floor.
Dean noticed. Dean suffered.
He gripped the steering wheel tight enough to crack it.
“If you touch ANYTHING—”
“That includes breathing?” you asked sweetly.
“YES.”
The nest was deeper in the forest.
Dean walked ahead—machete out, shoulders tense, Mark humming.
You walked behind him, not because he was leading, but because you knew he’d rather throw himself into a woodchipper than walk behind you.
A rustle. Two vamps. Fast.
Dean moved first, brutal and efficient. You moved next, cleaner but just as lethal. You didn’t fight together. You fought near each other.
One vamp grabbed you from behind—Dean didn’t even hesitate. He swung clean through the vampire’s neck, inches from your face.
You shoved him back.
“I had that!”
“You’re welcome,” he spat.
“I DIDN’T ASK YOU.”
“THEN KEEP UP.”
Another vamp barreled toward him.
You got there first.
Slit its throat clean, wiped the blade on your sleeve, and smirked viciously.
“Don’t fall behind, Winchester.”
Dean’s nostrils flared.
He looked one second away from snapping your neck himself.
Sam showed up exactly in time to save both your lives.
“Okay!” he called. “Everybody alive?”
You and Dean glared at each other. Unfortunately, yes.
————————
a/n: ok, i’m not sure if u guys are liking this, so pls pls lmk because it’s been a year since i haven’t posted anything. i’ll continue this ONLY if y’all like it 🫶🏽
The forest stank of blood.
Not human—sweeter. Wrong.
Dean Winchester shoved a dead vampire off his boot and didn’t stop moving. The Mark of Cain pulsed like a second heartbeat, hot and hungry, dragging him forward through the trees.
Three more vamps circled him.
Good.
He needed something to rip apart.
Dean lunged first—blade catching the moonlight as he tore into the closest one. He didn’t hear the crunch of branches behind him. Didn’t care. Anything moving right now was getting carved up.
Something stepped into the clearing.
He didn’t look.
He didn’t think.
He swung.
Metal clashed against metal.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” a furious voice snapped.
Dean’s eyes snapped up—and instead of a snarling vamp, it was you. A stranger. A hunter. Blade held up, blocking his strike. Dark coat, boots too clean for a hunt, hair too perfect for someone in the woods. You looked like you’d stepped out of a damn magazine shoot and into a vampire nest by accident.
“Move,” Dean growled, yanking his blade back to attack again—this time fully intending to go through you if he had to.
You parried again, faster.
Stronger than he expected.
“I’m hunting the same nest you idiot!” you snapped, accent crisp—New Orleans with something sharper underneath. “Try not killing a human for once!”
“You got in my way.”
He pushed forward. Hard.
“So did your brain,” you shot back.
One of the vampires rushed from the side. You didn’t hesitate—you turned your back to Dean (insane choice, really) and took the vamp’s head clean off with a vicious swipe of your machete. Graceful, messy, annoyingly impressive.
Dean didn’t compliment.
Dean didn’t do compliments anymore.
He just grabbed you by the arm and shoved you out of his path. “Stay the hell out of my swing radius.”
“You almost killed me!”
“Shouldn’t’ve been standing there.”
The last vamp lunged. Dean met it halfway—slamming it into a tree and beheading it with one brutal, too-satisfying strike.
Silence fell. Only the Mark hummed in his blood.
Dean turned back to you, still breathing hard.
And you—still standing, blade dripping—glared at him like you were the one who almost killed him.
Your nose wrinkled.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
Dean sheathed his blade.
“Then stop following me.”
You scoffed. “Excuse me? I was tracking this nest before you came stomping in like a drunk bear.”
“And I finished it.”
“With my help.”
He stepped closer—close enough you had to tilt your chin up, which only made the stubborn fire in your eyes burn brighter.
“You wanna take credit?” Dean’s voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “Fine. Here it is—congrats on not dying.”
You shoved him.
Harder than he expected.
“I should’ve let the vamp take a bite,” you muttered, brushing dirt off your very expensive coat. “At least vampires have manners.”
Dean barked a humorless laugh.
“Yeah? Try hunting with me again. See how long you last.”
“Oh please. You couldn’t kill me even with that ugly little Cain tattoo of yours buzzing away.”
His eyes snapped to you. Cold. Sharp.
No softness. No smile. Nothing human.
“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking and I might try.”
You stepped closer, unfazed.
“Try harder.”
For one hot second, Dean actually considered it. The Mark wanted violence. You practically invited it. But you weren’t afraid—and that pissed him off more than anything.
Before he could say something he’d actually follow through on, Sam crashed through the trees, panting.
“Dean! Are you—oh.” Sam froze when he saw you. “Uh… hi?”
You wiped vamp blood off your cheek like it was dust from a shelf.
“Evening.”
Sam looked between you and his brother. He could read tension like a book. And this was a whole damn library.
Dean turned away first.
Not because he wanted to.
Because staring at you made the Mark itch.
Sam, awkwardly: “Where are you staying? There’s a motel a few miles—”
“She’s not coming,” Dean snapped immediately.
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t need your charity.”
Sam frowned. “It’s not charity. It’s cold. It’s late. And you just helped with a nest.”
Dean cut him a look. “Sam—no.” But Sam ignored him.
Of course. “You can stay at the bunker if you want,” he said gently.
Dean’s fists clenched.
You studied Sam, head tilted, crow-like and cautious—then shrugged in that too-posh, too-calm way. “I suppose I can grace your… bunker.” Dean scoffed. Loudly. “Unbelievable.” You flashed him a single, deadly sweet smile.
“Oh, relax, sweetheart. I’m not staying for you.”
Dean felt the Mark pulse. Not with softness. Not even close.
hey babies. i’m back on tumblr. and i wanna start writing again. i’m open to writing about anyone rn. but i was leaning more towards Tim Bradford. Jensen too maybe. and lmk if there’s anyone else u want me to write about, requests are opened. 🫶🏽
Maybe like they’re at Miguel and Robby’s party and some girl has been looking at Miguel all night and everyone warns her to stay away cause his girlfriend (reader) is possessive (not toxic though:) ) and the girl goes up to Miguel and reader cuts her off saying “keep your hands off my man”???
Hands On Hands Off | Miguel x Fem!reader
Summary: The request
Word Count: 991
The party was in full swing, music pumping, red solo cups in every hand, and the backyard packed with people dancing, drinking, and making questionable decisions. Miguel and Robby had thrown the party together—an unexpected team-up, but a damn good one.
You stood near the kitchen, sipping your drink and watching as your boyfriend, Miguel, laughed with his friends across the room. He looked good—too good. His curls were tousled just right, his dimples flashing every time he smiled, and his stupidly perfect arms flexing whenever he gestured.
And apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed.
The blonde—Lexi or Lacey or whatever—had been staring at him all night. Not subtly, either. No, she was full-on heart-eyes, biting her lip like she was in some kind of rom-com, twirling her hair like she had an invisible ‘pick me’ sign above her head.
“Uh-oh,” Devon muttered beside you, following your gaze. “She’s gonna try it.”
“She wouldn’t,” Tory added, then squinted. “Actually, she might be that stupid.”
“Bless her heart,” Sam sighed, already taking a sip of her drink like this was about to be entertainment.
Sure enough, the girl started making her way toward Miguel, swaying her hips like she was in a Victoria’s Secret commercial. Your grip tightened around your cup, but you didn’t move—not yet. You gave her a chance to rethink. To turn back.
She didn’t.
She reached out, fingers about to graze Miguel’s arm.
Oh, hell no.
Before she could lay a single manicured finger on him, you stepped in, placing yourself right between them. You looked her dead in the eye, voice sweet but firm.
“Keep your hands off him.”
The room didn’t go silent, but damn if people weren’t watching.
Blondie blinked, clearly not expecting to be stopped. “I was just—”
“Just what?” You tilted your head, smiling. “Just about to make the worst decision of your life?”
Miguel, bless his soul, had the audacity to look amused. He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Hey, babe,” he murmured, kissing your temple.
Blondie hesitated, then let out an awkward laugh. “It’s not that serious.”
You raised a brow. “It is when it’s my boyfriend.”
Robby, who had wandered over with a beer in hand, smirked. “Damn. Girl’s got a death wish.”
Blondie huffed, muttering something under her breath before turning on her heel and walking away—finally.
Devon grinned. “And that, folks, is why no one messes with Y/N’s man.”
Miguel chuckled, looking down at you. “Jealous, babe?”
You met his gaze, a slow smirk curling your lips. “Not jealous. Possessive.”
And when you pulled him in for a kiss right there, making sure everyone saw exactly who he belonged to, you knew there wouldn’t be a single girl in this room dumb enough to try that again.
Miguel smirked against your lips, his hands settling on your waist. “Damn, babe. If I knew you got like this, I would’ve thrown a party sooner.”
You rolled your eyes, tugging him down for another quick kiss. “Don’t push it, Diaz.”
From the sidelines, Robby snorted. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re crazy about each other. Can we get back to the actual party now?”
Devon nodded. “Agreed. And someone better tell Blondie to cut her losses before Y/N really gives her a reason to regret tonight.”
Tory smirked, raising her drink. “I don’t know. I kinda wanted to see what would happen.”
Miguel chuckled, shaking his head. “You guys act like Y/N’s about to start a fight.”
You leaned in, your voice low enough for only him to hear. “Not a fight, cariño. Just a lesson.”
His eyes darkened slightly, and yeah—you knew exactly what that look meant. Maybe this party would end early after all.
Smirking, you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Come on, show me those moves.”
Miguel grinned, letting you lead. As you passed Devon and Sam, you overheard Devon mutter, “Yeah… no one’s ever trying that again.”
Then, as if on cue, Robby grinned and added, “Like that time Hawk tried to steal Johnny’s last beer.”
The entire group groaned, Tory covering her face as Sam shook her head.
“That was two years ago,” Hawk called from the other side of the yard. “Let it go already!”
“Never,” Devon shot back, clinking her cup against Sam’s.
Miguel laughed, pulling you closer. “You know, I think that might’ve been the last time I saw Johnny cry.”
You snorted. “Well, good thing I’m not stealing your last beer. Just your heart.”
Miguel grinned. “You stole that a long time ago.”
And just like that, the party carried on—Miguel firmly yours, the lesson well learned, and yet another ridiculous inside joke added to the group’s never-ending collection.
Hello! I heard requests are open? Could you please do a Robby x sister! Reader where reader is at prom with her bf Eli (after the shaving) and she sees Robby and she catches Robby alone and tries to talk to him about why he shaved her bf's hair off and she tries to reason with him (im headcanoning her as a sweet girl. Like Moon, but nicer) and in the end, she gives up on that convo and they hang out a little, maybe even have a small dance (cause no matter what happens, they're still twins and they can never hate each other, even when they're on opposite sides of war). I know it's a long one but could you please try to do it? Thank you so much!!
No Matter What | Robby x Fem!reader
Summary: You and your twin brother were on opposite sides of the Miyagi-Do vs Cobra Kai rivalry, and even after everything he’d done, in the end, they were still twins.
Word count: 1092
The gym was alive with color and chaos—strobe lights flashing, dresses swirling, and music thumping through the speakers. It smelled like too much cologne and cheap perfume, but there was something almost magical about prom night.
And for a while, it had been perfect.
Eli had smiled at you, his hands firm on your waist as you swayed together on the dance floor. But he was different now—quieter, more withdrawn. You knew why. The scar on his lip, the way he tensed when certain people walked past—it all told the story he didn’t like to say out loud.
You knew what they had done to him.
What Robby had done to him.
Your twin brother. Your best friend since birth. The boy who used to braid your hair when Mom was too drunk to function, who used to sneak you out for ice cream when things got bad at home.
And now, he was the reason your boyfriend flinched at mirrors.
You saw him before he saw you.
Robby stood near the punch table, alone, looking out of place in a suit he probably hadn’t even wanted to wear. His jaw was set, arms crossed over his chest, his presence somehow both menacing and sad. He wasn’t celebrating. He wasn’t laughing or dancing or throwing an arm around some date. He was just there.
And you knew you wouldn’t be able to ignore him.
You squeezed Eli’s hand. “I’ll be back in a sec, okay?”
Eli followed your gaze, and his whole body stiffened. “Are you serious?
“I just…” You exhaled through your nose. “I need to talk to him.”
Eli looked away, jaw clenched, but nodded. “Just don’t let him pull any of his ‘woe is me’ bullshit on you.”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you made your way through the crowd, the music growing quieter as you reached him.
“Hey,” you said softly.
Robby turned, surprised. His expression flickered, unreadable, before settling into something neutral. “Hey.”
You shifted on your feet, fidgeting with the beading on your dress. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”
He shrugged. “Tory wanted to come. I figured, why not?”
You hummed, nodding, before taking a deep breath. “I gotta ask, Robby… why?”
His jaw ticked. “Why what?”
“Come on,” you pressed. “You know what. Eli’s hair. You didn’t just beat him—you humiliated him. You stripped him of something that made him him. That’s not you.”
His eyes darkened. “You sure about that?”
“Yes,” you said immediately. “I know you, Robby. And I know how much you hate bullies. But what you did—it wasn’t just fighting back. It was cruel.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “You don’t know what it was like in there. You don’t know what he was like in there.”
You blinked. “So that makes it okay?”
“No,” he admitted. “But it makes it fair.”
Your heart sank. “I don’t get it. I don’t get you anymore.”
“Maybe you never did,” he muttered.
A lump formed in your throat. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
Robby sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do this, okay? Not here.”
You studied him for a moment before exhaling sharply. “Fine. Whatever.” You shook your head, dropping the topic entirely. If he wasn’t going to budge, there was no point in fighting. “Guess we’re both here, anyway. Might as well make the most of it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we do that?”
You smirked slightly and held out your hand. “Dance with me.”
Robby stared at you like you had lost your mind. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” you confirmed. “What, you scared?”
His lips twitched, almost smiling. “You are insane.”
“And you’re stalling.”
He rolled his eyes but took your hand anyway, letting you lead him to the dance floor.
A slow song had just started, and you placed his hands on your waist, wrapping your arms around his neck.
It was weird. It was familiar. It was you two.
“You know,” you said after a moment, “we used to dance in the kitchen all the time when we were kids.”
Robby huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Mom’s crappy radio and that tile floor that was always sticky.”
“God, I hated that floor.”
“Me too,” he admitted.
You swayed in silence for a while, lost in memories, lost in the moment. It felt right. Like before everything had gone to shit. Like before Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do and rivalries and revenge.
Just you two. Just twins.
You rested your head on his shoulder, and he sighed, squeezing your waist just a little tighter.
“Things are never gonna be the same, are they?” you murmured.
Robby’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think so.”
You swallowed hard, pulling back to look at him. “But we’re always gonna be us, right?”
He held your gaze for a long time before nodding. “Yeah. We’re always gonna be us.”
And for tonight, that was enough.
—————
A/N: I’m so sorry i couldn’t post these past few days, i’ll try doing it regularly but i’ve got some important exams coming up soon.
Hi, Ik your pretty busy but could you do sensei Wolf x reader where they’re together and reader doesn’t fight anymore but wolf asks reader to sensei with him at the sekai taikai and he gets turned on seeing her in a Gi again and it turns into a smut and he asks reader to be his partner for life I’m living for wolf having a soft spot for reader
His Eyes Only | Sensei Wolf x Fem!reader
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+
Summary: The request
A/N: I realize I don't add a lot of smut into my work but i'm trying my best, I'll make a post on what all I can write about, I'm so open to smut requests.
You never expected to step back into this world. Fighting, competing, teaching—it had all been a part of your life once, but you had let it go. And Wolf had let you, even if you knew it killed him.
Still, you visited him at the dojo. You sat on the sidelines, watched him push his students to the brink, barked out the occasional correction when one of them was slacking. But that was it. Just a visitor.
Until today.
Wolf leaned against his desk in the private office, arms crossed, watching you with that sharp, assessing look he reserved for his fighters.
"I need you," he said, voice low, deliberate. "For the Sekai Taikai."
You exhaled. "Wolf—"
"I know," he cut you off. "I know you’re done. But this isn’t just any tournament. You know what’s at stake."
You did. This wasn’t just about winning—it was about proving that the Iron Dragons still ruled the world stage. That Wolf still ruled it. And if there was one thing you knew about the man standing in front of you, it was that he didn’t handle failure well.
"You’re the only one I trust," he admitted, the rare vulnerability in his voice making your chest tighten. "Just help me through this."
That was how you ended up here, standing in front of the mirror in his office, adjusting the sleeves of the grey Iron Dragons gi.
The second you tied the belt, you heard it—low and deep, like a man barely holding it together.
Wolf groaned.
You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the way his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists like he was fighting the urge to touch you.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "I forgot how good that looks on you."
You smirked, turning to face him fully. "That why you wanted me here? Just an excuse to see me in this again?"
His eyes darkened, and in two strides, he was in front of you, hands gripping your waist. "That’s a bonus," he murmured, voice rough. "But now I’ve got a different problem."
Your breath hitched as his fingers flexed against your hips, his gaze roaming over you like he was memorizing every inch.
"And what’s that?" you teased.
Wolf leaned in, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.
"Now I don’t want anyone else seeing you in this but me."
His mouth found yours, and you could already taste the need on his lips. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, and the intensity of that hunger sent a rush of heat between your thighs.
Wolf’s hands slid under the gi top, up your bare back, and then under your arms to grip your breasts, fingers finding and teasing your nipples until you moaned against him.
He swallowed the sound with another deep kiss, and your hands fumbled for his belt, popping the button free. When you finally got his pants open, his cock sprang out, thick and hard, and Wolf cursed again, the sound turning you on even more.
He picked you up and sat you down on his desk, pushing you legs apart and kneeling in front of you. You reached out to tangle your fingers in his hair, but he shook his head, eyes burning as he ran his gaze over you again.
"Not yet."
He lifted your gi pants and shoved them down, leaving them at your ankles, then leaned in and dragged his tongue up your inner thigh. Your legs clenched around his head at the sensation, and he made a pleased sound deep in his throat.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Just what I needed."
Then his mouth found you, and all your thoughts went blank.
You were used to him teasing you mercilessly with his tongue and teeth, but he was hungry, too hungry to hold back now. He ate you out with all the pent-up need he’d been holding in, and you let out one moan after another, your head falling back as your body shook and trembled with pleasure.
"Wolf," you gasped, your hands pulling at his hair now, the need to come too much to bear. "I’m so close—"
He moaned against you and you cried out, your back arching as he pushed you over the edge. Your legs clutched around him like a vice, holding him in place as your orgasm tore through you.
Wolf didn’t stop until you were shivering and limp, your legs loose around his shoulders.
You weren’t even sure when he got up, when he pulled off the rest of your gi and your sports bra. You didn't know how or when but in a single move you were off the desk "on your knees" you heard him say in a low growl.
You looked up and saw Wolf standing in front of you now, his pants still open, his hard cock right in front of your face.
You happily obliged and got on your knees, wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking.
"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, his hand threading through your hair.
You didn’t respond, too busy sliding your mouth up and down his shaft. He wasn’t the only one hungry for this.
He kept a hand in your hair, guiding you, not pulling on it, but still firm enough that he could control your movements.
It didn’t take long before you felt him swell and stiffen in your mouth.
You pulled back as quickly lifted you up to his desk, bending you over, both of you now facing the only mirror in his office
. Your eyes caught on him, seeing the reflection of his body and your own, naked and eager.
"Watch us," he commanded as he positioned himself behind you, his hand curling around the nape of your neck.
You nodded and kept your gaze on the mirror, watching as his cock found its way to your wet pussy.
His hand tightened on your neck as he pushed inside of you, and you cried out at the intensity.
Wolf groaned. "Fuck, baby."
He started moving, thrusting into you, and you watched his reflection fuck you hard, fast, rough. You could see your tits bouncing in the mirror, and you felt the heat building between your legs.
He pulled your hair as he fucked you harder and faster.
"Tell me when you’re gonna cum," he gritted, his voice thick.
The need inside of you was already building, your muscles clenching around him as he hit that spot inside of you over and over.
Wolf reached his hand between your legs and rubbed your clit. He pressed his palm flat against your pussy and slid it up to the bottom of your belly, pressing lightly.
You screamed and bucked back against him as an orgasm tore through you, your eyes never leaving the mirror.
He held you against him as the spasms rocked your body, his cock still pumping in and out of you, then he pressed his fingers against that spot again, and you came all over again, crying out his name.
This time, he couldn’t hold back. His thrusts became more frantic, his hands holding your hips hard as he fucked you through another orgasm.
When you felt his cock jerk and swell inside of you, you knew he was close. His fingers curled tighter on your hips, pulling you against him on his final thrust, and with a strangled groan, he spilled inside of you.
You watched as he came in the mirror, your gaze locked on the reflection of Wolf losing himself in you, his mouth open and gasping for air.
You stayed there like that for a moment, both of you trying to catch your breath as he leaned over, his chest pressing against your back. Then he pulled out of you and turned you around.
Wolf exhaled, his forehead resting against yours as the last waves of pleasure faded into something softer. His grip on you eased, no longer possessive—just grounding. Like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.
"You good?" he murmured, his voice still rough but laced with something gentler.
You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yeah. You?"
He huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his lips against your temple before finally stepping back. "Come on."
Before you could ask where, he was already scooping you up, ignoring your weak protest as he carried you toward the small bathroom connected to his office.
"You really don’t have to—"
"Shut up," he muttered, kicking the door open. "You barely got your legs under you."
You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat to it. He set you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a towel and wetting it under warm water. His movements were steady, practiced, but there was a tenderness in the way he cleaned you up—tracing over every mark he’d left like he was committing them to memory.
"You always act all tough," you teased, watching him work, "but deep down, you’re just a big softie."
Wolf shot you a look, one brow raised. "Say that again and see what happens."
You grinned, swinging your legs playfully. "Softie."
He tossed the towel at you.
You caught it, laughing. "Rude."
Wolf just shook his head, grabbing one of his spare shirts from a cabinet and tugging it over your head before you could argue. It smelled like him—clean sweat, cedar, and something distinctly Wolf.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, then leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed. "You really gonna do this?" he asked, quieter now. "Sensei with me?"
You looked up at him, seeing something unspoken in his expression. This wasn’t just about the tournament. It was about trust. About standing beside him, in every way.
You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. "Yeah," you said softly. "I’m with you, Wolf. Always."
For a moment, he just looked at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite hide the warmth in his eyes, he muttered, "Damn right you are."
And just like that, he pulled you into his chest, holding you like he never planned on letting go.
The Sekai Taikai cocktail mixer was in an hour, and you were still in Wolf’s office, lounging on the couch in his oversized shirt while he finished getting dressed. He looked damn good—black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, fitted slacks that made it criminal for him to leave the room without you jumping him again.
"You’re staring," he muttered, smirking as he adjusted his watch.
"You’re hot," you replied without shame, stretching like a satisfied cat.
Wolf chuckled, shaking his head before crossing the room, stopping in front of you. "Come here," he said, holding out his hand.
You took it, letting him pull you to your feet. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of his shirt that was still hanging loose on you. His expression shifted—more serious now, like he was turning something over in his head.
"What?" you asked, tilting your head.
Wolf exhaled through his nose, then smirked like he was amused with himself. "I was gonna wait until after the tournament, but…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box.
Your breath caught.
"Wolf—"
"I’m not good with words," he interrupted, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. "Never have been. But you? You’re the only thing in my life that’s ever made sense. And I know I don’t deserve you, but I don’t give a shit."
Your eyes burned, heart hammering as he opened the box to reveal a sleek, silver ring—simple, but right.
"Marry me," he said, no hesitation, no nerves. Just certainty. Just him.
You blinked. Then blinked again. Then looked down at yourself—the oversized shirt of his you’d thrown on, your bare legs, your hair still messy from what you’d just done on his damn desk.
“Wolf,” you choked out, holding up your hands. “Look at me. I look homeless right now, and you’re proposing??”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “And?”
“And?! People usually propose when their girl is, I don’t know, in a nice dress, with her nails done, maybe not looking like she just got manhandled six ways from sunday in her fiancé’s office.”
His smirk deepened. “Exactly. You’re mine like this. No fancy shit, no audience—just us. And I’d still marry you if you were wearing a trash bag.”
You stared at him, your chest tightening. Leave it to him to make something so ridiculous sound so perfect.
Then you sighed dramatically. “Fine, but when people ask how you proposed, I’m telling them you did it while I looked like a gremlin.”
Wolf chuckled, pulling you close. “Tell them whatever you want.” He kissed your knuckles before slipping the ring onto your finger. “Long as they know you said yes.”
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A/N: While writing this i was trying to find a better word than 'railed' and my brain instantly thought of 'manhandled six ways from sunday' and my mouth moved faster than my brain and I went "my favorite way" ??????????????
